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MISS LULA BELLE CORPIER. 



DREAMS AND 
REALITIES 



BY 

LULA BELLE CORPIER 



SECOND EDITION 



Nashville, Tenn. : Dallas, Tex. 

Publishing House of the M. E. Church, South 

Smith & Lamar, Agents 

1909 



PS 



4-4 a 



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Copyrighted, 1897, by Lula Belle Cobpier. 



COPYRIGHTED, 1909, BY MARY FlTZPATRICK PRESTON. 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Covips, Received 

'class /4 



DEDICATION. 

TO MY DARLING MOTHER 

THIS FIRST LITTLE VOLUME OF MY POEMS 
IS MOST LOVINGLY DEDICA TED, 

Not for their worth or grandeur, but 
because of all the world of critics none 
will judge so tenderly these, my heart 
children. To you, who have always 
encouraged and fanned the spark of my 
ambition; to you, to whom each little 
manuscript has been taken before send- 
ing it out into the world; to you, of whose 
love and sympathy I am always confi- 
dent—I tenderly inscribe these, my dear- 
est treasures. 

LULA BELLE CORPIER. 



PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION. 

The preparation of these poems for this little 
volume was begun about six months ago. They 
have been written from time to time during the 
last two years. Even when I began selecting from 
my poems for this volume, 'the idea of having them 
in book form was only a sweet "dream," but by 
perseverance it has become a "reality." In pre- 
senting them to 'the world I feel, as a fond parent 
might about a dearly loved child, anxious as to 
their reception. But if they carry one ray of hope 
to some troubled heart, one gleam of sunshine to 
some shadowed life, I shall not have worked in 
vain. Asking the tender Father of frail humanity 
to will it so that good may grow out of this small 
seed, I place them lovingly before the public. 

„ „ onP? Lula Belle Cokpier. 

December, 1897. 



PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION. 

I think it selfish in me, the mother of the 
author of these dear little poems, if I do not send 
them out into the world to cheer some lonely heart 
and point others to a purer and higher life. My 
darling is with the angels in heaven. Lula Belle 
died October 15, 1898. She had begun writing for 
publication another volume of poems; but leaving 
her work unfinished, I feel it my duty to have these 
poems published. I would not call her back to 
this sin-stained earth, if I could, though sad my 
heart is without her. I have lived to know that 
"length of breath is not the sweetest gift God 
sends to man, but, like the fragile lily, you tear the 
close-shut leaves apart to find the calyx of gold." 
So with our lives: the golden thread is twined 
within. Mattie Grant Corpier. 

January, 1909. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Air-Castles 13 

If We Could Live Life Over 16 

May 18 

The Dear Old Violin 19 

A Tangled Skein 21 

Her Little Hand 23 

All in a Year 25 

Thine Eyes 26 

An Album Verse 27 

King Winter . 29 

The Picture 30 

Longing 33 

My White Lily 34 

Our Little Schoolgirl in Her Bonnet of Blue 36 

Wrecked 38 

The Power of Love 40 

A Boat Ride 43 

Little Miss Vanity 45 

" Auld Lang Syne" 47 

A Silver Song 48 

When My Dreams Come True 49 

If We Knew 51 

"Forever and a Day" 52 

An Autumn Day 55 

Work and Wait 57 

The Days of Long Ago 58 



10 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

PAGE- 

At Twilight 60 

Beyond the Hills 61 

A Fragment 64 

To My Mother 65 

"The Science of Forgetting" 67 

By and By 69 

"A Midsummer Night's Dream" 71 

Good Night 72. 

The Shadows 73 

The Enchanted Valley 74 

October 76 

Two Daisies 77 

Nobody Ever Knows 79 

Where? 82 

The House Across the Street 85 

I'm Longing for the Hills 87 

Questioning 89 

The Dawn of Christmas 91 

The Death of the Year 95 

The Recompense 98 

The Old Apple Tree 101 

The Land of By and By 103 

Alone, yet Not Alone 105 

Alien Lilies 106 

He Speaks to Me 108 

Autumn Leaves Ill 

Hands 113 

A Dream of Heaven 115 

My Darling 116 

Just Another Sorrow 118 

A Love That Will Not Die 120 

Sunrise ..121 

An Hour in Eden 123: 



CONTENTS. 11 

PAGE 

Wishing 126 

In a Spanish Prison 127 

Drifting I 29 

Come Back to Me 130 

The Shattered Idol 131 

For You 133 

Moonlight and Lilies 134 

Just a Smile 136 

To a Friend 137 

For Your Dear Sake 139 

The Palace of Silence 140 

The Days of Long Ago 143 

My Broken Lily 146 

As the Years Have Willed 148 

Mine— To-Night 149 

If You Could Know 151 

Trusting, After All 153 

Somehow It Will All Come Right 154 

Love's Borderland 156 

The Last Quadrille 158 

Little Sweetheart 162 

To a Late Chrysanthemum 163 

Adrift I 64 

Love Will Find a Way 167 

The Things I Love 168 

Too Late 171 

"The White City" 173 

The Shadow of a Dream 176 

'Tis Better So 178 

The Prodigal Son 180 

Contentment 185 

He's All the World to Me 188 

My First Love 189 



12 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

PAGE 

A Sketch 195 

Wait 196 

Rest 197 

My Message 199 

Sometime 201 

My Hero 202 

The Fallen Leaves 205 

To 207 

Relics 208 

The Rainstorm 211 

When I Began to Love You 213 

To a Flirt 214 

The Old Meadow 217 

Lost 220 

Past, Present, and Future 222 

What Is Heaven? 224 

A Year Ago To-Night 225 

My Ship 229 

I Love You 230 

After Many Days 232 

Since Then 234 

Just Longing 236 

Silence 238 

To a Photograph 240 

A Song 242 

Somehow It Will All Come Right 243 

After 245 



DRCAMS AND REALITIES. 



I 



AIR-CASTLES. 

BUILDED a beautiful structure 
Up to the blue dome of the sky, 
As I lived in a golden existence, 

While the long summer days floated by ; 
On the topmost golden turret 

Of the castle I carved my name, 
And the only road to this palace 

Is the rose-twined ladder of fame. 

And from all the beautiful windows 

Streamed a rosy perfumed light, 
And the world in my glorious vision 

Had no dark or gloomy night, 
And I lived in the beautiful summer, 

Nor dreamed that a chilling blast 
Would shatter the walls of my castle, 

And wither its roses at last. 



14 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

But the winter came, with its chilling wind: 

As winter always will ; 
And the fairy vision faded 

When the babbling brooks were still ; 
And the hand of disappointment 

Filled my heart with dull despair, 
And shattered my wonderful vision, 

My castle in the air. 



But I builded again in the springtime 

A castle of purest gold; 
And the beauties of its splendors 

Can never in words be told, 
For its walls were decked with jewels 

Fair as the stars above ; 
It was but a paradise on earth, 

Built for the god of love. 



But again the springtime passed away ; 

The stars faded one by one ; 
The chilling voice of a cruel fate 

Said : "Thy beautiful dream is done ; 
No more to ambition, no more to love, 

Build thou these visions fair, 
For every time they must crumble, 

Your castles in the air." 



AIR-CASTLES. 15 

So I put away the fancy, 

And turned to the duties of life, 
Determined to win its battles, 

And conquer in every strife ; 
But the summer dreams would come to me, 

And their spells around me cast, 
And I builded once more a castle 

From the ashes of the past. 

And the walls of this poorer palace 

Were silvered by hope's pale gleam, 
And I moved expecting pitfalls, 

I lived in a waking dream. 
Once more my castle crumbled, 

And my heart makes bitter moan, 
Once more in the winter of sorrow 

I am left mid the ruins alone. 

My last bright dream has faded, 

And shadows, dark and vast, 
Have arisen out of the sunlight, 

And their gloom about me cast ; 
But I wonder if time should heal the wound, 

And life once more were fair, 
If I would build another 

Fair castle in the air. 



IF WE GOULD LIVE LIFE OYER\. 

IF we could live life over, 
the changes we would make ! 
We would heal the broken-hearted, 

Nor cause bleeding hearts to break.. 
But, alas ! the years, they vanish 
Till the summers all are dead, 
And at last we find, with sorrow, 
That our chances all are fled. 



If we could live life over, 

the good we all might do ! 
In the busy whirl of living 

There is yet a work for you ; 
There are lives that we might brighten 

With no effort — just a breath — 
But we never think about it 

Till they sleep the sleep of death. 

If we could live life over, 

We'd take back the cruel word 

That broke some heart that loved us, 
When its mocking scorn was heard,. 



IF WE COULD LIVE LIFE OVER. 17 

We would plead for full forgiveness, 
We would save long years of pain, 

We would make some heart much lighter 
Could we live our lives again. 

If we could live life over, 

Ah, the years are on the wing ! 
And through storm and change and heartache 

Time ne'er gives us back our spring. 
Days once gone are gone forever, 

Life does not in seasons roll, 
And the summer days and sunshine 

Come but once to any soul. 

If we could live life over, 

the changes we would make ! 
Down the years this cry is ringing 

From ten thousand hearts that break. 
Of your deeds be very careful, 

Guard with care the words you say, 
You will wish to live life over, 

You will want them back some day. 

2 



MAY. 

(~X OD sent a little drop of dew 
^X Down from its home in the far-off blue, 
A message of love to the sleeping flowers, 
Of sunn}' days and cooling showers ; 
A whisper it gave to the budding trees, 
As it passed in the arms of the evening breeze, 
And said : "Awake, once more be gay, 
For it is May, sweet, sunny May/' 

The flowers awoke and lifted up 
Each shining bell and fragrant cup, 
The bird-choir sang in the apple trees 
A welcome song to the flowers and bees, 
The daisies came in gowns of white 
And crowded the clovers left and right ; 
The tulips came in hats so gay 
That every grass blade knew 'twas May. 

The bee bent over the rose and said 
Something that made her blush quite red ; 
The violet lifted her eyes of blue 
To catch the trembling drops of dew, 
The bluebird whistled to his mate, 
"Let's build our nest by the orchard gate f 
And every breeze-voice seemed to say, 
iC Be happy again, for it is May." 



THE DEAR OLD VIOLIN. 

BEING forth the dear old violin, 
And softly draw the bow, 
And let me see if I can feel 

The joys of long ago. 
Perhaps the storm of sorrow 

And the weight of care and pain 
Would vanish could I listen 
To its melody again. 

Bring forth the dear old violin, 

And play that old, sweet strain, 
And perhaps the old-time happiness 

Will flood my soul again. 
So well do I remember 

One night, now long ago, 
When your eyes brought me a message 

As you softly drew the bow. 

Outside the clouds were gathering 

That heralded the storm ; 
Inside, that gloomy winter's night, 

At least two hearts were warm, 
For on the throbbing music 

There seemed to rise and flow 
A message from your heart to mine, 

With the drawing of the bow. 



20 



DREAMS AND REALITIES. 



So bring your dear old violin, 

I long to hear to-night 
The music that has power to thrill 

My soul with such delight, 
And somehow o'er me steals the joy 

I used to know when 
Your eyes looked messages to mine 

Across the violin. 




A TANGLED SKEIN. 

®UE lives are like a tangled skein 
That we try to untangle in vain, in vain. 
God gave us our lives in a straight bright thread 
To weave for heaven a golden web ; 
And though we have toiled by day and night, 
The threads are tangled, they are not right. 

If the past, with its wrongs, we could undo, 

And begin the weaving all anew, 

Perhaps we should know how to keep in sight 

Of the beautiful pattern, and weave aright, 

And feel to-day no bitter pain 

That our lives are only a tangled skein. 

By past mistakes we might learn to guide 
The threads of gold from side to side, 
And in the light of the after years 
The cloth would show no stain of tears, 
If we could all the knots undo, 
And begin to weave our lives anew. 

What is past is past, and the wish is vain 
To ever untangle the tangled skein ; 



22 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Cloth once woven into the web 
Can never go back and again be thread; 
So lives where mistakes and successes blend 
Must bear the stain when the weavings end. 

But we may strive in the coming years, 
Though we view our work through falling tears, 
To keep our threads all straight and bright, 
And weave the rest of the web aright ; 
And though the first many knots may hold, 
Let the last of the web be a cloth of gold. 

And then when the weaving all is done, 
And we from the loom of life are gone, 
Jesus will take the tangled skein 
And make the threads all straight again. 




HER LITTLE HAND. 

®NE night I held close clasped within my own 
Her little hand, 
And silver moonlight through the window shone 
Like fairyland. 

Her little hand was fair as the white flower 

Upon her breast, 
And warm with life, and full of magic power, 

As mine it pressed. 

The room was full of shadows, save the path 

The moonlight made ; 
By chance, or some design of fate, we sat 

Within the shade. 

A thrill my soul could not resist, 

Nor understand, 
Came o'er me, and I bent and kissed 

Her little hand. 

The years have fled, with many, many a change, 

Since then, 
And life has taught me all the lessons strange 

That fall to men. 



24 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

The little hand that lay within my own, 

With love and trust, 
Hath lain for years beneath a graven stone, 

In crumbled dust. 

But here to-night, when silvery moonlight shone 

Like fairyland, 
I seemed to feel again within my own 
Her little hand. 




ALL IN A YEAR. 

AYE AR is short ; the seasons come and go 
In swift succession, and the winter snow, 
In silence, soon will shroud through many hours 
The fields where bloom to-day a thousand flowers. 
A year is short ; the world that smiles to-day 

In vernal beauty will be brown and sere, 
And yet I met you, loved you, lost you — all, 
All in a year. 




THINE EYES. 

THINE eyes first made me love thee, they alone 
First won my heart and made me all thine 
own. 
My heart, too tender to be overwise, 
Went from me on the love beams of thine eyes, 
Thine eyes like azure water, willow grown. 

Thine eyes still make me love thee, they alone, 
Although our hearts and hands have strangers 
grown ; 
All the sweet bliss the tyrant Fate denies 
I see within thy tender, smiling eyes, 
Thine eyes like woodland bluebells widely blown. 




AN ALBUM VERSE. 

•'"P'HEY touched this page, those slender, boy- 

L ish fingers, 

They wrote these words one long-past summer 
day, 
And like the echo, faint and sweet, that lingers 

When the last quivering note has died away, 
So there comes stealing o'er my heart to-night 
An echo from the olden days' delight. 

How well I know the writing, plain and bold ! 

A thousand memories cluster round each line ; 
I see your dear face, as in days of old, 

Your smiling eyes look tenderly into mine. 
It seems to draw you nearer, very near, 
When I reread the lines you wrote, dear. 

To memory's banqueting to-night there came 
Ghosts of the past that never really slept, 

Roused by these words : "May my name 
In fond remembrance evermore be kept." 

Ah me, within my heart's most tender spot 

Your name is twined with blue forget-me-not 

But memory's feast is yet so bitter-sweet, 
We find so many dregs within the wine, 



28 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

That we will shrink, and our poor feet 

Will falter when we enter there to dine ; 
And yet who would not give up life and all 
To live again some day beyond recall? 

I close the book, my eyes are dim with weeping ; 

Depart, ye ghosts of the dead past who came ; 
Leave me once more in silence, keeping 

"In fond remembrance" that one loved name. 
They haunt me still — old scenes, old joys, old 

grief, 
Eecalled by the lines upon this leaf. 




KING WINTER. 

WHAT means this wild commotion 
Of the spirits of the night? 
And why does Mother Nature wear 

Her bridal robes of white ? 
And why is every dark tree dressed 

In gems a prince might own, 
Of glittering ice ? It is because 
King Winter's on the throne. 

So all the wind went forth to-night, 

With carpets for each nook, 
And robes for every hill and dale, 

And ice coats for the brook, 
And frost lace spun from cobwebs, 

And moonbeams intersown, 
To deck each fence and shrub because 

King Winter's on the throne. 

And then the stars will come to light 

His coronation scene, 
And every wind-minstrel shall play 

Soft melodies between; 
And all the court, arrayed in white, 

With frost-cold tresses blown, 
Will bow in humble greeting to 

King Winter on his throne. 



THE PICTURE. 

YES, the face is just the same — 
Eyes of azure and golden hair — 
It smiles at me from the quaint old frame 
That stands on the table there. 

I can see her just as she was that day, 
Sweet as a rosebud dipped in dew, 

Young and happy, merry and gay, 
Clad in a dress of blue. 

Under the apple trees, down by the brook, 
I told her the story so old, yet new, 

And read my fate at a single look 
Into her eyes of blue; 

Read that she loved me, but we must wait ; 

I was too young to claim her then, 
So I kissed her and dreamed of a happier 
fate 

Than a lonely life and a bachelor's den. 

Well I remember the little elf ; 

She was sixteen the very day 
That she brought me that picture, her dar- 
ling self, 

And kissed me and ran away. 



THE PICTURE. 31 

No one could look on that fair young face, 
And into those eyes of heavenly blue, 

And dream that her heart could give a place 
To a thought that was untrue. 

But even yet I will not blame 

The idol of my boyhood years, 
For the pain that to my fond heart came, 

And the storm of doubts and fears ; 

For she was caught in the busy whirl 
Of the world, like a bubble upon a stream ; 

And it bore away my little girl, 
Away from the old, sweet dream. 

She found position and rank and wealth, 
Her home a palace — a banker's wife — 

I, robbed of my darling by cruel stealth, 
Am left to a bachelor's lonely life. 

But my darling's picture is just the same; 

Eyes of azure and golden hair; 
And it smiles at me from the quaint old 
frame 

That stands on the table there. 

And I love her yet, though it may seem 
That she was false as she was fair ; 



32 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

For all I have of that old, sweet dream 
Is her picture standing there. 

But to me that picture is all in all, 

For it carries me back to life's dead 
spring, 

To days forever beyond recall; 
And I hear the bluebirds sing, 

And smell again the sweet perfume 
Of flowers that faded long ago, # 

And through the stillness and the gloom 
Eings the laughter I loved so. 

I never think of her growing old, 

With brow that is furrowed and marked 
by care; 

To me her tresses are always gold, 
She is always young and fair. 

For my darling's picture is just the same, 
Eyes of azure and golden hair, 

As it smiles at me from its quaint old frame 
That stands on the table there. 



LONGING. 

LOW in the western sky the sun is sinking, 
A mass of pink and gold ; 
And looking toward the west, I'm thinking, 
thinking, 
And longing as of old. 

From out across the fields, in mellow sweetness, 

The sounds of evening float, 
But in the music of my life's completeness 

There is a silent note. 

From 'mong the hills to where the sunset lingers 

The first pale shadows creep, 
And something in my heart the twilight's fingers 

Have roused from sleep. 

And though the day was full of peaceful pleas- 
ure, 

There comes the old-time pain 
And longing for a tenderer, sweeter measure, 

Both sad and vain. 

Low down the west the last faint tints are dying 

On beds of blue, 
And in my heart there is a longing, sighing 

For love and you. 
3 



MY WHITE LILY. 

^T^HE garden beds are gay with, flowers, 
«J- The lily buds are white, 
And from their pearly cups of bloom 
A delicate and rare perfume 
Steals out across the night. 

These lilies, like some pearly keys, 

Unlock the halls of memory vast ; 
Like some sweet strain of music fled, 
Like breath of flowers that are dead, 
Are the days that now are past. 

I see again that glorious night, 

That radiant silver moon ; 
A fragrance floats upon the breeze 
That softly stirs the cherry trees, 

Sweet with the kiss of June. 

You said : "The first sweet lily bud 
That blooms I'll bring to you." 

Now all the summer winds that blow 

Kiss the lilies' cups of snow, 
But the promise proved untrue. 

You said : "Before the lilies bloom, 
One lily I may bring." 



MY WHITE LILY. 35 

And in the garden of my heart 
Of all the fair, sweet flowers thou art 
The fairest and the king. 

The night wind wafts the sweet perfume 

Of lilies to me now ; 
And though they are my favorite flower, 
These angels of a bright, brief hour 

Are not so fair as thou. 




OUR LITTLE SCHOOLGIRL IN HER BONNET OF 
BLUE. 

T HEBE'S a dear little lassie about eight years 
old, 
With eyes like the bluebells and hair bright as gold, 
With face like a lily and heart good and true — 
She's our little schoolgirl in her bonnet of blue. 

'Bout eight in the morning, when school bells ring, 
You see her get ready, the sweet little thing ; 
And she pins on a flower, still wet with the dew, 
And ties just above it her bonnet of blue. 

Then away trips our lassie ; she don't want to wait, 
For the prompt little darling don't want to be late. 
She's as sweet little maiden as ever I knew, 
And looks like a flower in her bonnet of blue. 

And we turn to go in with her kiss on our lips, 
And another blown back from her pink finger tips, 
And we say : "May God bless her, and troubles be 

few 
For our little schoolgirl in her bonnet of blue !" 

We all are school children in life's great school, 
And often before us there lies some hard rule, 



OUR LITTLE SCHOOLGIRL. 37 

And sorrows surround us and joys are few, 
From these guard our lassie in her bonnet of blue. 

Smooth out the rough places before her dear feet, 
And make all life's school days both happy and 

sweet, 
And keep her as pure, as good, and as true 
As she is to-day in her bonnet of blue. 




WRECKED. 

A FLASH of lightning in a midnight sky, 
An ocean with wild waves that lash and roar, 
A poor ship, with no help or succor nigh, 

Struggling amid the breakers, far from shore, 
With frantic beings roused from midnight sleep 
To find a grave within the briny deep. 

The hours pass by, the hurricane is o'er, 

A few pale stars peep frightened from the sky, 

The blackened wreck drifts helplessly toward shore ; 
But 'neath the gurgling waves the sailors lie. 

The storm was brief ; it was a cruel fate ; 

The calm came soon, but came, alas ! too late. 

Ah me ! a life on time's great ocean once set sail, 
As fair as ever left the Father's care, 

A life that dreamed of no such word as "fail," 
Followed and guarded by a mother's prayer. 

But winds of hate o'ertook the fragile bark, 

And storms of fate have made its pathway dark. 

And now, although the cruel storms have passed, 
And the wild waves have ceased to lash and roar, 



WRECKED. 



39 



And the long-prayed-for calm has come at last, 
It drifts, a helpless wreck, far out from shore, 
Wrecked, soul and body, by its cruel fate, 
For peace and calm have come at last — too late. 




THE POWER OF LOVE. 

THE master workman made a beauteous harp — 
A harp of pearl, with strings of pure gold. 
He studded it with jewels, bright as stars, 

Yet when he swept the strings the notes were 
cold. 

Where was the melody for which he longed ? 

He burst into a flood of bitter tears ; 
Something seemed lacking, though the notes were 
sweet ; 

Lost was the work of weary, weary years. 

A wild despair swept o'er the workman's soul ; 

The harp lay silent like a cold, dead thing ; 
And he had dreamed the world would pause to hear 

The melody when once he touched the string. 

He laid the harp aside ; he stood alone 
Amid the ruins of his dreams so fair ; 

Alas ! ambition, when thy fires burn low, 
So swiftly follows then the dark despair. 

Years passed. The workman wandered far, 
In distant lands, and there he learned to love. 



THE POWER OF LOVE. 41 

Earth suddenly became a paradise, 

He dreamed of bliss like angels know above. 

But ah, the golden dream was all too brief. 

He woke to find that he had loved in vain, 
And in the gloaming of a beauteous day, 

The broken-hearted wandered home again. 

And then he thought of that bright dream of fame, 
And brought forth to the light the harp again. 

He stood beneath the stars and breathed her name, 
Then touched the strings ; they quivered as with 
pain. 

He thought of her, of her sweet face and smile, 
And all the while he softly swept the strings ; 

A melody responded strangely sweet 
And sad, like songs a wanderer sings. 

The birds all hushed their songs to hear ; 

The busy world paused, and the hurrying throng 
Listened in wonder while the breaking heart 

Gave vent to its wild sorrow in sweet song. 

They followed him, like Orpheus of old, 
The music was so sad, so strangely sweet, 



42 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Each note seemed throbbing with a tender love, 
They clustered, wondering, at the workman's 
feet. 

Some heart seemed breaking in each tender chord, 
Each note seemed glittering with sorrow's tears ; 

Yet love was in it all — a love so strong, 
It seemed to be eternal, not of years. 

And then the workman said : "At last I know 
The secret which the angels know above, 

Without it life would be a barren waste, 
The power that moves the universe is love." 




A BOAT RIDE. 

THE moon's asleep, mid shadows deep, 
In the dusky Southern sky ; 
And we gently float in our swaying boat, 
Together — you and I. 

Now sweet and low, the waters flow, 
And the spell I would not break ; 

All the world forgot, in this quiet spot 
On the bosom of the lake. 

Row gently, gondolier, 
Over the rippling stream ; 

Row gently, gondolier, 
Fm living in a dream. 

Float, float, fairy boat, 

Over the waters wide ; 
Dream ! dream ! on life's deep stream ; 

We're drifting with the tide. 

Now faint, yet clear, there comes, my dear, 

Sweet music from the shore, 
And our gondolier, now there, now here, 

Keeps time with his faithful oar. 



44 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

The night winds blow as on we go, 

And with you by my side 
I halfway long, like the quaint old song. 

That life were a long boat ride. 

Row gently, gondolier, 
Over the rippling stream ; 

Row gently, gondolier, 
I'm living in a dream. 

Float, float, fairy boat, 
Over the waters wide ; 

Drift on then forever 
Over life's changing tide. 




LITTLE MISS VANITY. 

LITTLE Miss Vanity looks in the glass 
Ten times a day, her friends declare, 
To see if the summer winds that pass 
Have made her dimpled face more fair. 

Little Miss Vanity's eyes are bine, 
Blue as the sky on a summer night, 

Blue as the violets bathed in dew, 
Clear as the winter stars and bright. 

Little Miss Vanity's curls are gold, 

Gold as threads from the sunbeams spun, 

They cling with a rippling, shimmering fold 
To the head they rest upon. 

Little Miss Vanity's lips are red, 
Red as the dainty cypress flower, 

Red as the rose in the garden bed, 
Sweet with the sun and shower. 

Little Miss Vanity's voice is clear, 
Clear and sweet as the bird's in June ; 

Hark ! how the sound of it charms my ear, 
Singing that old love tune. 



46 DEEAM8 AND REALITIES. 

Little Miss Vanity, don't you know 
That to be vain is very wrong ? 

Little Miss Vanity trills "0 no !" 
To the tune of the old love song. 

Little Miss Vanity, don't you know 
Beauty will fade, like the flowers die ? 

That time will come when the tress of snow 
On your beautiful brow will lie ? 

There are treasures that God has given 
Into your keeping, fair little one; 

And they will live in the courts of heaven, 
When beauty and life are done. 

They are the wonderful mind, the soul; 

Better are they than gifts that pass ; 
They will live while the ages roll ; 

Turn away from your looking-glass. 



"AULD LANG SYNE: 1 

THEY wonder why I love it — 
The old step at the door — 
And why I like to linger there 
When twilight floateth o'er. 
'Tis for the tender memories 

That round the old step twine ; 
'Tis for the sake of some one, and 
"The days of auld lang syne." 

The world seems drifting from me, 
When I sit out there and dream, 
And sweet fancies, half forgotten, 

From the past, like starlight, gleam. 
Olden hopes, and love and longings, 
Round my heart their fingers twine, 
And my pulse beats to the music of 
"The days of auld lang syne." 

There the air is fraught with memories 

On a starry summer night, 
When the leaves are all a-whisper 

And a-flutter with delight. 
Ah, some dreams are very real, 

But when morning sunbeams shine 
Once more I leave behind me 

"The days of auld lang syne." 



A SILVER SONG. 

SWEETHEAKT, the spring has come again, 
The hills and dales are dressed in green, 
The flowers nod to the passing breeze, 
The birds sing in the budding trees. 
But one song sings my happy heart : 
" 'Tis paradise where'er thou art." 
Blow, blow, south winds, blow ! 

summer, don't be long ! 
For every morn with its golden haze 
Brings nearer and nearer thy sunny days, 

And life is a silver song. 

The robin swings in the lilac tree, 

And sings to his mate, "Come, love, with me;" 

The bee tells to the blushing clover 

The sweet old story, over and over. 

And I wonder, love, where'er thou art, 

If it is summer in thy heart. 

Blow, blow, south winds, blow ! 

Waft my boat along. 
For every kiss of the silver sea 
Brings nearer and nearer my love to me, 

And life is a silver song. 



WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE. 

WHEN my dreams come true, when my dreams 
come true, 
My heart's best love I may offer you, 
For I shall have wealth at my command, 
And ships at sea, and fertile land, 
And pile upon pile of golden store, 
And jewels — a kingdom's worth and more. 
But, best of all, I shall have you, 
When the sweetest dream of my life comes true. 

When my dreams come true, when my dreams come 

true, 
What is there then that I cannot do ? 
For I shall have a wondrous fame, 
And the world shall pause when it breathes my 

name. 
I shall count my friends by the hundred score. 
(With the fortune-favored, 'tis always so) ; 
But best of all, it will bring me you, 
When my dreams come true, when my dreams come 

true. 

When my dreams come true, when my dreams come 

true, 
My sweetest dream I'll tell to you, 
4 



50 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

It is that, without the world's vain charms, 
You will drift some day to my waiting arms, 
And I shall be loved for myself alone, 
Though riches and fame are both unknown. 
With these or without them, that I may have you 
Is the sweetest dream that could e'er come true. 




IF WE KNEW. 

IF we knew at the beginning 
All the woes we have to bear ; 
If we knew for years before them 

All our heartaches and our care — 
Would not many of us falter? 

Would we not shed bitter tears 
If we could read on before us 
All the story of the years ? 

Would not many bruised feet stumble, 

As we press life's thorny way, 
With no sweet hope to sustain us, 

Of a coming, brighter day ? 
Could we struggle on with courage 

If we knew what storms await ? 
Would we not give up the journey 

Ere we pass life's morning gate ? 

So I think it is the wisdom 

Of the Father's tender love, 
That has made the mystic future 

All unknown and yet to prove. 
So 'tis best that we accept it 

As our Father's loving plan ; 
Leaving to him all the future, 

Live, to-day, the best we can. 



"FOREVER AND A DAT." 

SAID I, "Priscilla, darling, how long will you 
be true? 
Can you love a sailor laddie far away upon the 

blue?" 
The sky was fair above us, and across the sapphire 

sea 
The sunset threw a path of gold. Near by a lazy 

bee, 
Rocked in a wild rose cradle, and the murmur of 

the waves 
Sent a kind of drowsy echo to that quiet place of 

graves. 

The golden head was lifted, and the sweet eyes 

sought my face. 
Said she: "Yon moss-grown gravestone marks a 

woman's resting place. 
It gives her name and age, and then 'She was a 

faithful wife 
Through all the joys, cares, and pains of forty 

years of life.' 
Now she was faithful forty years; I will be true, 

dear one, 
As long as she, whoe'er she be, who sleeps beneath 

this stone," 



53 

We pulled the clinging vines away, and, eager, 
looked between. 

Upon the gray stone were the words: "Priscilla, 
aged nineteen." 

My darling raised her eyes to mine; I saw a tear- 
drop fall. 

"She was Priscilla, too," she said; "but she was 
not true at all." 

That night we sat upon the steps of the house be- 
side the sea, 

Priscilla's aunt within the door, my darling close 
to me. 

And she said : "Tell me, auntie dear, the story, if 

you will, 
Who was 'Priscilla, aged nineteen/ who sleeps upon 

the hill?" 
"She was a kinswoman of yours, dear child," her 

aunt replied, 
"Who lived and loved and suffered long years ago, 

and died; 
She loved a sailor laddie, and would have been his 

wife, 
But his ship went down at sea one day, and she 

soon left this life." 

My darling's hand crept into mine, her voice was 
full of tears: 



54 



DREAMS AND REALITIES. 



"I was wrong ; her love was stronger than the love 

of forty years. 
Her love was one that took her life when he had 

gone away; 
She did not love for weeks and years, but 'forever 

and a day/ " 
And then I said : "You promised to be true as she 

was true." 
She answered softly : "So I will ; I'll love forever, 

too." 




AN AUTUMN DAY. 

LIKE some fair, blushing maid 
In bright attire dressed, 
The old world is arrayed 
Now — in her best. 

In crimson, green, and gold, 
Like Joseph's gorgeous coat, 

The trees their flags unfold, 
And wave and float. 

The hills, in purple mist, 

To greet the sun are dressed ; 

All sparkling and dew-kissed, 
He leans upon their breast. 

And as he climbs the blue, 

Below a glad bee hums, 
Because he's found a bed 

Of gold chrysanthemums. 

i 
And in the maple tree 

A gleeful, feathered throng 
Is trying to select 

Their "good-by" song. 



56 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And summer seems to pause 
On hill and field and sky, 
And lingers yet, because 
She soon must fly. 

Adown the western sky, 
Like limpid, amber wines, 

In cups of crimson dye, 
The sunset shines. 

And from the east, pearl-pale, 
The stars come, one by one, 

Then night, swift on their trail, 
And day is done. 




WORK AND WAIT. 

THOUGH 'tis night above, abound you, 
Light will dawn, though it come late ; 
Keep up heart while in the darkness, 
Work and wait. 

Though your dreams seem all beyond you, 
We can sometimes change our fate ; 

Perseverance worketh wonders, 
Work and wait. 

Give not up your pet ambition, 
Struggle on, and, soon or late, 

Fair success will crown your efforts, 
Work and wait. 



THE DAYS OF LONG AGO. 

©YEAES that have come, years that have 
gone, 
Pause a moment as yon go, 
Turn backward the pages in life's great book, 
And make me a child once more. 

0, I sigh for the days of long ago, 
When my heart was as light as air, 

When childhood sorrows, like April snow, 
Melted beneath sunshine fair ! 

give me back the violet's blue, 
By the meadow brooks' silvery gleam, 

And the sweet wild flowers that always grew 
Where the willows kiss the stream ! 

And my childhood playmates, where are they ? 

Have they found life full of woe ; 
Or have they found it the golden dream 

That we thought it long ago ? 

The day is cold with wintry chill, 

And dark with the falling rain, 
And my heart is weary and clamors still 

For the dreams that it dreamed in vain. 

The childhood days were made so sweet 
By freedom from thought of care, 



THE DAYS OP LONG AGO. 59 

And those wonderful visions I had e'en then, 
The castles in the air. 

give me back the childhood joys, 

And the loves that I knew then, 
And the childish faith and the simple trust 

That I had in my fellow-men ! 

0, 1 long to-day for the sweet old days 

When hearts were fondly true, 
And I trod the sun-clad, flower-decked ways 

That my happy childhood knew. 

They are gone, all gone, the joys of old, 

The home and its sunny nooks, 
The hours of play the livelong day, 

The flowers and rippling brooks. 

They are gone, all gone, the childish loves, 
And the comrades I played with then, 

And the simple trust and the pure faith 
That I had in my fellow-men. 

For the rainbow dreams of childhood years 

Have faded, as all dreams must ; 
And the castles of air, though wondrous fair, 

Have crumbled in the dust. 

And the day is cold with wintry chill, 

And dull with a mist of rain, 
And my heart is weary and clamors still 

For the dreams that it dreamed in vain. 



AT TWILIGHT. 

■HP* HE day may bring to me its fleeting pleasures, 
«JL Or cares and sorrow, as my lot may be. 

They sink to rest when purple shadows lengthen — 
At twilight, dear, there comes a thought of thee. 

The day dies out in clouds of ruby splendor, 
The noisy crows fly homeward o'er the lea, 

A hazy veil rests on the distant woodland — 
The twilight hour has come with thoughts of 
thee. 

And o'er my soul there comes a longing sadness, 
That I too, like the crows, might homeward fly, 

And be with one I love when twilight shadows 
Float like pale mist across the evening sky. 



BEYOND THE HILLS. 

THE silver twilight rests upon the meadows, 
And in the fields of heaven blooms forth a 
star, 
And from the hilltops, with their purple shadows, 

Strange voices seem to call me from afar, 
Saying that rest from all life's cares and ills 
Is waiting for me there, beyond the hills. 

hills, what are you always hiding, hiding? 

My restless, longing heart cries with despair. 
The want that, with me, ever is abiding 

Would vanish, could I reach that genial air. 
My heart with sudden, rapturous wonder thrills, 
When I think of the world beyond the hills. 

Beyond the hills the great world's heart is beating, 
Its massive wheels are always moving on, 

And tides of human life are parting, meeting, 
Till world and time and busy life are gone. 

Somewhere there is a place, fate for me wills, 

In that great world beyond the purple hills. 



I stretch my arms in pleading prayer at even 
To those majestic hills that bar the way, 



62 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And while the countless stars smile down from 
heaven 
I whisper, "They will come another day" — 
The joy and peace from all life's little ills, 
That wait somewhere beyond the silent hills. 

And when my heart is wrung by pain and sorrow 
That I can tell to none for sympathy, 

I think that with the dawning of the morrow 
The love for which I long may come to me, 

And all my heart with answering love fills, 

For some one out beyond those distant hills. 

And when the morning comes with cloud-rifts 
breaking, 

And sunshine kisses all the world with glee, 
I try to think, although my heart is aching, 

That with the evening it may come to me — 
The love that every heartache soothes and stills, 
That must be somewhere out beyond the hills. 

But still the purple hills are hiding, hiding 
My treasure from my longing, waiting sight, 

And with me still the old pain is abiding, 
And once again the daylight dies in night; 

And I cry out, with pain that never stills : 

"When will it come ?"— the peace beyond the hills. 



BEYOND THE HILLS. 63 

So day by day the wheels of life are turning; 

In the old ruts they're turning day by day, 
And with me lingers yet that ceaseless yearning 

That by its grinding wears my life away. 
Sometimes I cry that from these pains and ills 
There is no rest beyond the silent hills. 

And then a voice whispers : "Wait still longer ; 

For every care and sorrow there's an end." 
And my poor fainting heart grows strangely 
stronger : 

Beyond the hills I have, at least, one Friend ; 
So I can wait His coming till He wills — 
For heaven lies beyond those silent hills. 




A FRAGMENT. 

THERE'S a chill in thy breezes, Summer ! 
There's a gloom in thy sun's brightest ray, 
There's a blight on the buds and the blossoms, 
Since somebody's gone away. 

There's a note of despair in the bird's song, 
There's a cloud in the heart of the day, 

There's a feeling of loneliness all the day long, 
Since somebody's gone away. 

There's a throb of regret in the morning, 
There's a loss in the night shadows gray, 

There is longing and love for somebody, 
Since somebody's gone away. 



TO MY MOTHER. 

YOU are not here, sweet mother dear, 
And yet I feel, despite the gloom, 
Yonr precious presence in my room, 
And I know yonr heart is here. 

Just yesterday you went away; 

But every hour seems an age 

When one loved face, on memory's page, 
Holdeth such constant sway. 

And when the sun his course has run, 
To-morrow you'll be here, 
And I shall clasp you, mother dear, 

And loneliness be done. 



What would I do, dear, if I knew 
That you would come no more, 
That all my waiting never would be o'er ? 

Ah me, what could I do? 

The sweet daylight would turn to night, 
And from the shadow of thy tomb 
Would spread an everlasting gloom 

That life could ne'er make bright. 
5 



66 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And yet I know that one of us must some- 
time go 

Across death's cold and narrow sea, 

From time unto eternity, 
And leave the other here below. 

If it be you, heart most true ! 
I would not, could not tarry long, 
Till from life's discord to the land of song 

My soul should follow you. 

If it be I that first am called upon to die, 
Close by the portal of the golden gate 
My soul should stand and watch for thee 
and wait, 

Though centuries passed by. 

We do not know, and it's better so, 
Which one shall face the vast eternity, 
And leave the other here alone to see 

Days of unending woe. 

But this I know : I love thee so 
That even out beyond death's sea, 
Beyond life, to eternity, 

My love shall reach and go. 



"THE SCIENCE OF FORGETTING." 

©MOTHER NATURE, well I know 
That thou art rich in treasure ; 
That thou hast jewels all aglow, 
And beauties without measure. 
Thou hast the mountain heights sublime, 

The glowworm's burning ember ; 
Thou hast the flowers of bonny May, 
The snows of bleak December. 

Thou hast the sun-kissed rivulet, 

Thou hast the storm-tossed ocean, 
And all thy throbbing heart is full 

Of life and glow and motion. 
Thou hast the sunset's golden gleam, 

Like gem in azure setting, 
But hast thou any, anywhere 

The science of forgetting ? 

wisest sages that have lived 

Since man began life's story, 
ye who over musty books 

Have bent till ye are hoary, 
Have ye e'er found a word that said 

A soul may cease its fretting ? 
In any volume, did you learn 

The science of forgetting ? 



68 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

traveler from beyond the sea, 

Thou hast crossed hill and river, 
tell me, didst thou find a spot 

Where heartaches die forever ? 
Where olden memories haunt us not, 

Our daily lives besetting; 
Is there a land where man can learn 

The science of forgetting ? 

wise astronomers who read 
Upon the page of heaven 

The history of other worlds 
The golden stars have given, 

Do you not learn from those bright guides, 
When other lore you're getting, 

The lesson all mankind would know, 
The science of forgetting ? 

Is there a time in human life 
When past woes sleep forever? 

1 throw the question out in space, 
And Time makes answer, "Never." 

Perhaps when many years have fled, 
Time's magic, soothing finger 

May smooth griefs jagged edge away, 
But memory still will linger. 



BY AND BY. 

HOW little all these things will seem, 
By and by ! 
These clouds that shut out the sunlight's gleam 
Will vanish away like a midnight dream, 
Or a bubble lost on the rushing stream, 
By and by. 

These cares in the light of the after years, 

By and by; 
These things o'er which we grieve with tears, 
How soon the weight of them disappears 
When the sun shines forth and the tempest clears, 

By and by ! 

That trouble that almost breaks your heart, 

By and by; 
That thing which seemed of your life a part, 
That the loss of left such a cruel smart, 
You will grieve less over, after Time's art, 

By and by. 

We will smile some day at the woes we've had, 

By and by; 
We will laugh at things we once thought bad, 
At things o'er which we were grieved and sad, 
And feel that our lives are happy and glad, 

By and by. 



70 DKEAMS AND REALITIES. 

the changes that Time can make, 

By and by ; 
The eyes that weep and hearts that ache 
In the light of the future some day'll awake 
To find that hearts are hard to break, 

By and by. 

Of course there are things we never forget, 

By and by; 
But the little worries o'er which we fret, 
That little unkindness that stings you yet 
Will pass away without regret, 

By and by. 

Look up and wait for a brighter day 

By and by; 
When all these clouds shall have rolled away, 
And we can look back o'er our lives and say, 
"There were some threads golden as well as gray/ 

By and by. 



"A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM." 

THE moon hangs low in the western sky, 
And the world is all asleep, 
Save where the breeze goes whispering by, 

A watch with the stars to keep. 
The flowers lean with a weight of dew 

On their beds of velvet green ; 
And a ghostly light in the dew-damp night, 
The glowworm burns between. 

And the fairies come from the world of dreams 

To dance 'neath the moonlit trees, 
To the music of the mock-bird's song 

That floats on the summer breeze. 
And they stoop and kiss the sleeping flowers, 

But never a bud they wake ; 
Then away they float in a seashell boat 

Over the silver lake. 

And I call to you across the night, 

And the miles that lie between; 
"The world is sweet and the moon's soft light 

Falls fair on the dewy green," 
And I long for the touch of your hand in mine 

In the hush of the summer night, 
And your eyes' soft beam, though but a dream, 

Would fill me with delight. 



GOOD NIGHT. 

eOOD night, sweetheart. 
Across the sunset bars 
There comes a glimmer of the evening stars; 
And o'er the glorious sea of amber light 
I send you, as of old, a fond good night. 

Good night, sweetheart. 
The darkness dawns apace; 
But if it holds but one glimpse of your face, 
No night could e'er be darkness, love, to me, 
In which your darling face I once could see. 

Good night, sweetheart. 
Life's day is fading fast. 
Its storms and sorrows soon will all be past, 
But in the shadow of the coming night 
I send you, as of old, a fond good night. 



THE SHADOWS. 

I WAS painting a picture of roses, 
Dainty and pink and sweet; 
And I thought as I worked: " 'Tis the 
shadows 
That make the picture complete." 

Each one of our lives is a picture ; 

We are painting it day by day ; 
And if at last it is perfection, 

It must have the tints of gray. 

So the Master, the great Art Teacher, 

Sends us pains that are hard to bear, 
And heartaches — because in our picture 
A shadow is needed there. 

For the pains and the heartaches are shad- 
ows, 

That dull rosy pleasure's bright tone ; 
And we grumble, not knowing our picture 

To a higher perfection has grown. 

So when to us cometh a heartache, 
And the loss of things we held sweet, 

Remember, 'tis only the shadows 
That make the picture complete. 



THE ENCHANTED VALLEY. 

[This poem was suggested by a beautiful sermon preached by 
a minister friend.] 

HAST thou heard of the valley enchanted, 
Where the birds have forgotten to sing, 
And amid the soft bine of the heavens 
Have pansed upon motionless wing ; 
Where no breeze ever stirs the green forest, 

No leaf ever falls from a tree, 

No flower ever answers with blushes 

The love song of bird or of bee ? 

Where no sound of the ripple of waters 

Ever breaks on the cold, silver sand; 
Where no burst of triumph or tumult 

Ever reaches this wonderful land ? 
'Tis the valley of waiting and silence ; 

And though His so perfect and fair, 
There is danger in breathing the perfume 

That rests in the motionless air. 

For, like some strange balm of a wizard, 

It lulls heart and soul into sleep, 
And we rest all contented, not knowing 

We are held by a power so deep. 
And we sit with our idle hands folded, 

While the sirens are weaving the chain 
That is mighty, though made just of roses, 

To bind us again and again. 



THE ENCHANTED VALLEY. 75 

And they feed our hearts with illusions, 

Vain hopes that are tempting and fair, 
And we drink deep the cup that they offer, 

Not knowing its dregs are despair. 
Are you wandering, friend, in this valley ? 

Are you captive, yet think yourself free? 
Let me warn you to throw off the fetters 

That bind you so firmly, and flee. 

You think that the cords are of roses, 

You can break them whenever you will ; 
But like the iron chains of the captive, 

Though you break them, the scar is there 
still; " 
And if to-day you are wearing 

A chain, howe'er fragile it be, 
That binds some sin closer about you, 

While you can, throw it off and be free. 

You think that some day you will do it, 

And know not that with every hour 
That passes away in inaction 

Your captor is gaining in power. 
Begin now ; be deeply in earnest, 

And slowly but surely you'll win, 
If you try with the Lord for your helper 

To throw off the slave chains of sin. 



OCTOBER. 

WHEN the sun is bright and golden, 
And the sky is soft and blue, 
When the leaves at early morning 

Bear no weight of shining dew, 
When upon the distant hilltops 

Seems to rest a smoky cloud, 
Veiling stately forest monarchs 

In a shifting, shimmering shroud — 
Then it is the glad, sweet autumn, 

Fairest time of all the year, 
And the beauty all around us 

Seems to say: "October's here." 

When upon the ground beneath us 

Is a carpet red and gold, 
When each lowly wayside flower 

Twice its sweetness doth unfold, 
When from every hedge and woodland 

Nods the feathery golden-rod, 
And the birds among the branches 
Praises sing to nature's God — 
Then it is the glad, sweet autumn, 

Fairest time of all the year, 
And the beauty all around us 
Seems to say : "October's here." 



TWO DAISIES. 

SOFTLY the birds in the meadows are singing, 
Flitting mid boughs that are laden with dew, 
Slowly a butterfly onward is winging, 

Seeking forever something that" s new ; 
Down by the fence, in the leafy trees' shadow, 

The first sweet daisy looks up to the light, 
Gold is its heart, and its long starry petals 
Are pure as winter snow, drifted and white. 

Stooping, I pluck it, this first pure daisy ; 

In my heart thrills a memory of old ; 
Scenes that are vanished drift now before me, 

Out from the daisy's bright heart of gold ; 
Gone are the hills and the birds' silvery singing ; 

Gone is the meadow brook's ripple and gleam ; 
Up, like an echo of strains that are silent, 

Floats once again that old, happy dream. 

Out from the midst of those starry white petals 

Eises a vision of days that are fled, 
And I am living again for a moment 

One sweet May day whose daisies are dead. 
In a book, with some poor, withered flowers, 

I have a daisy whose sweetness is gone, 
Just a relic I keep in memory 

Of that May day now so long flown. 



78 DEEAMS AND EEALITIES. 

Just a rare little bright-eyed daisy, 

Just a sweet wild flower somebody wore ; 
Only a dream of a dream that is faded, 

Faded and gone from my life evermore. 
Stooping, I kiss its long pure petals, 

Kiss for the sake of that daisy of old, 
And to this daisy a secret Fll whisper 

That to nobody ever was told. 




NOBODY EVER KNOWS. 

'"HP* IS not the mighty troubles 
J- That keep the soul oppressed ; 
'Tis the little cares and heartaches, 

And that feeling of unrest; 
'Tis that nameless, ceaseless longing 

That through human hearts still flows ; 
'Tis the hopes that fade and wither 
That nobody ever knows. 

There are dreams like glorious sunsets, 

Eich in tints of red and gold ; 
For a while they blaze before us 

With a glory never told ; 
Then we find a tiny shadow 

Like the thorn upon the rose, 
And the golden dream is shattered, 

But nobody ever knows. 

We must crush away the heartache, 

On our faces wear a smile, 
Make believe that we are happy, 

Though our hearts ache all the while. 
This old world receiveth gladly 

One who smiles where'er he goes ; 
Hence so many smiling faces 

Hide a sorrow no one knows. 



80 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

the lofty aspirations 

That are crushed and put away, 
While the heart with sinking courage 

Struggles with its cross to-day ! 
Painter's brush and song of poet 

Tell the beauty of a rose, 
But no words can tell the glory 

Of those dreams that no one knows. 

the wild, the nameless yearning 

That is throbbing through my soul ! 
Thoughts are there like unset jewels, 

But they cannot outward roll, 
Words are lacking, words are feeble ; 

And a rippling music flows 
Through and through my inmost being, 

That nobody ever knows. 

Had I wings more strong than eagle's, 

I might sail through seas of space, 
And upon some far-off planet, 

In some distant secret place, 
Find the power to set to music 

That sweet song that through me flows- 
Thrill the world to its deep center 

With a joy that no one knows. 

Have I said that no one knew them — 
All our heartaches and our cares, 



NOBODY EVER KNOWS. 81 

All our lofty aspirations, 

And our faintest whispered prayers ? 
There is One who low is bending, 

And He heeds our slightest woes, 
Sees the tears that fall in secret ; 

Every care we have He knows. 

He will share our every sorrow, 

He is promised for our Guide, 
And at last He'll safely lead us 

Out upon the other side. 
Take to Him your doubts and longings, 

He will hold you by the hand, 
Every heartache that you tell Him 

He will know and understand. 




WHEREt 

WHERE are the flowers gone to — 
The blossoms we used to know ? 
Where are the birds that used to sing 

In the summers of long ago ? 
Where are the golden peaches, 

And the red-cheeked apples too ? 
Where are the amber-colored pears, 
And the grapes of dusky hue ? 

Where are the sweet, white daisies 

That kissed the wandering feet ? 
Where are the fair June roses 

That made the world so sweet ? 
Where are the strains of music 

Whose echoes e'en are dead? 
Where are the smiles and glances, 

And the words that once were said ? 

Are they lost ? Over Time's river 

There is a mystic land, 
And in the boat of memory 

We may sail to its golden strand. 
We may catch the wash of the waters 

As they kiss the shell-strewn sand ; 
In the beautiful land of the "used-to-be" 

My castle towers stand. 



WHERE ? 83 

The grass is soft to the weary feet, 

Not a single thorn in view, 
The way is sweet with flowers 

Of every kind and hue. 
The birds sing in the branches 

That sang in the days gone by, 
And the lilies tall, by the castle wall, 

Smile up to the azure sky. 

Knee-deep in the perfumed clover 

We stand with a sense of rest, 
While the crescent moon, like a silver thread, 

Hangs low in the glowing west. 
And I hear the sweet, low music 

That I heard in the days of old, 
And the voices of old friends whisper 

That love that once was told. 

0, a wonderful land is the "used-to-be," 

Where friends are ne'er forgot; 
Where hearts are true and sorrows few — 

'Tis a blest and lovely spot. 
When you weary of life around you, 

Step into the light canoe, 
And there with memory for your guide 

Sail over the waters blue. 

And beyond the rippling river 
Step out on the shining strand, 



84 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And wander at will, and drink your fill 
Of the joys of that fair land. 

You will find all you used to cherish, 
All life's faded flowers you'll see ; 

So sail away — you know the way — 
To the land of the "used-to-be." 



fl 



THE HOUSE ACROSS THE STREET. 

THERE'S a hush in the house across the 
street, 
And a kind of chill in the summer air ; 
And I hear the muffled tread of feet 

Come slowly down the winding stair. 
And I see white ribbon and snowy crape 

Float out on the breeze from the closed door ; 
And I know that a baby's dimpling smile 

Will brighten the gloom of that house no 
more. 

And in the dusk of the summer eve 

I see the mourners with faltering tread 
Come silently back to the darkened house, 

Whose light and life is dead. 
And I know that a mother weeps alone, 

And longs for the touch of those fingers sweet, 
That hold in their frozen, silent clasp 

The joy of the house across the street. 

There's another house across the street, 
I can see from the other side of mine ; 

From it comes the sound of dancing feet, 
And the lamps all glow and shine. 



86 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

I can hear the wail of the violin, 

And the voice of the fiddler's "prompt and 
call," 
And I know that all is joy within, 

For to-night is a young girl's debut ball. 

And I think of them in their merry glee 

With the lights and music and flowers sweet ; 
How little they care, it seems to me, 

For the heartache across the street ! 
How little we care for our neighbor's woe, 

While pleasant still is the cup we take ! 
How little we care for the tears that flow, 

And the suffering hearts that ache ! 

We should sorrow more with our fellow-men, 

For the tears of sympathy are sweet. 
We should feel a touch of pity and love 

For those in the house across the street. 
For the blessed Master, long ago, 

When he wept for Lazarus, showed how sweet 
It is our pity to bestow 

On the house across the street. 



I 



I'M LONGING FOR THE HILLS. 

'M longing for the hills, the* dear old verdant 

hills, 
Within whose shadow I was wont to roam; 

Whose quiet, restful calm 

Would soothe me like a psalm; 
0, I'm longing for the dear old hills of home ! 

I'm longing for the hills, the grand, majestic hills, 
That always seem to whisper "Peace" to pain; 
Whose wondrous, patient strength 
Could ease my heart at length ; 
0, I'm longing for sight of them again ! 

I'm longing for the hills, the towering, silent hills, 
Upon whose brow the white clouds seemed to 
rest; 
They stand so firm and sure, 
In calm or storm secure ; 
0, I long to lay my head upon their breast ! 

I'm longing for the hills, the purple, mist-crowned 
hills, 
Across which oft the summer birds have flown; 
Where I've gathered daisies white, 
In the hour of gloaming light ; 
0, I'm longing for the dear old hills of home ! 

I'm longing for the hills, the rugged, rock-ribbed 
hills: 



88 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

They were my friends in golden days long fled. 
I have sought their silence sweet, 
When life seemed nigh complete ; 

I have sought them when the summer dreams 
were dead. 

I'm longing for the hills, the dear old towering 
hills, 
Whose snow-clad heights have seen my happiest 
hours, 
Where I wandered oft to dream 
By some purling, crystal stream, 
And found along its banks sweet autumn flow- 
ers. 

I'm longing for the hills, the glorious, dew-kissed 
hills, 
That have echoed to my songs and sighs and 
prayer; 
0, the world is wide and bright, 
But no spot can so delight, 
No other place will ever seem so fair. 

I'm longing for the hills, the sheltering, restful 
hills, 
As I've seen them wrapped in silvery moonlight ; 
Though I am so far from home, 
I long to backward roam, 
And rest in peace among those hills to-night. 



QUESTIONING. 

©FATHER, tell me, is it always so, 
That when hath faded all the sunshine fair 
The place a darker, denser gloom doth know 
Than if the glory never had been there? 

A little dream of joy, like a thread 
Of gold, amid a somber web of gray, 

Lived once adown a life, and now is dead, 
And e'en its glory shadow passed away. 

And o'er that life crept shadows strangely back. 
And silence followed discord — after song — 

Until adown its chilled and darkened track, 
A gloomy waste, it barren stretched along. 

Is it the memory of that far-off day 

That makes it darker than it would have been ? 
Like lips that once have known and loved to 
pray 
Seem deeper scarred when they are steeped 
in sin. 

tell me, will the darkness ever lift? 

Will time come when to think will not be 
pain? 



90 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Adown life's current will the frail bark drift 
Back to the sunshine glory once again ? 

Or if not that, from out the web of night, 
Will silver threads be spun instead of gold ? 

Will something come to make its pathway bright 
And warm the heart that hath so long been 
cold? 

Methinks 'tis so. A stronger, truer love 
Than man can give is guiding yet our lot ; 

His tender eye is watching from above, 
And "peace" will come, for He forsakes us 
not. 




THE DAWN OF CHRISTMAS. 

NIGHT in a far Eastern village, 
Where the palms and olives grow, 
Had come with its usual splendor, 

Once in the long ago ; 
And out on the hills, in silence, 
The faithful shepherds kept 
Their watch o'er the flocks, safe folded, 
While all the village slept. 

When, lo ! from the azure heavens 

Streamed a glorious light afar, 
Like the glory of the noonday — 

'Twas a new and wondrous star, 
And the gates of heaven were opened, 

And a sweet, clear, angel voice 
Began to tell a message 

That has made the world rejoice. 

The sweetest, tenderest message 

That ever the world has known 
Was told to the lowly shepherds 

On the hills of Judea lone. 
"To you, in the city of David, 

A Saviour is born this day" — 
These were the joyful tidings, 

That took their fear away. 



92 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And then the angel choir 

Began a glad new song, 
And the trembling stars reechoed 

The praise as it rolled along. 
"Glory to God in the highest," 

The shining thousands sang: 
"On earth peace, good will toward men," 

From heaven's arches rang. 

And the shepherds sought the Saviour, 

Who in a manger lay — 
The world's blessed Redeemer, 

Who taketh all sin away. 
And from the East the wise men 

Had journeyed from afar 
O'er seas and arid deserts, 

Led on by the wondrous star — 

To find at last in a manger 

The newborn King they sought ; 
And they worshiped him and gave him 

Rich treasure that they had brought. 
So there, in a lowly stable, 

With the cattle by his side, 
Was born the world's Redeemer, 

The King of the Christmastide. 

And down through the mist of ages 

That have passed o'er this sin-stained 
earth 



THE DAWN OF CHRISTMAS. 93 

Have been hearts that delighted to honor 
The day of the Saviour's birth, 

And give to the poor and lowly, 

And to those whom Fate has blessed, 

Good gifts. But, friends, remember 
That God's own Gift is best. 

For he gave heaven's fairest Jewel, 

On that first Christmas morn, 
When in a lowly stable 

The Prince of Peace was born. 
God gave his Gift to the shepherds, 

As well as the great wise men; 
Christ came to all the nations, 

As well as to Bethlehem. 

So light the moss-grown Yule log, 

And scatter your Christmas cheer, 
For the gladdest, happiest season 

Of all the year is here; 
Give gifts to friend and neighbor, 

And help the children sing, 
And make some poor heart lighter, 

While Christmas bells shall ring. 

Speak words that are kind and loving, 

Let none in anger fall, 
For the Prince of the Christmas season 

Was gentle and kind to all; 



94 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And while we honor his birthday 
Let us strive to be more like him 

Who came to the high and lowly 
To bless and to save from sin. 

Let us strive to follow the pathway 

That his pure feet once trod, 
Which, though strewn with pains and 
crosses, 
Leads up to the throne of God, 
• Where, with the ransomed thousands, 
His praises forever we'll sing: 
"Glory to God in the highest, 
And glory to Christ, our King P 




THE DEATH OF THE YEAR. 

WILD is the night and inky black the sky, 
In fitful gusts the wind goes sweeping by ; 
A struggling moonbeam, piercing through a 

cloud, 
Hides back, affrighted, at earth's cold, white 

shroud ; 
The naked trees bend at the north wind's breath 
That comes to-night, a messenger from death. 

The year lies dying. All the lights are low, 

And in the hollow darkness he must go. 

Out from their graves the years all dead and 

gone 
Come like pale ghosts, borne by the storm, 
And cluster at the dying hero's side, 
To bear him o'er the ocean dark and wide. 

He gasps for breath, and struggles, all in vain ; 
That which is old can ne'er be young again ; 
Then, miserlike, he seeks to rise once more, 
That he may revel in his hoarded store. 
Great wealth has he, this robber of the heart, 
Treasures he tore away that left a smart. 

Smiles torn from lips that ne'er will smile again, 
Tears, pure as pearls, wrung from some heart 
in pain, 



96 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And vows of love that were some heart's delight 
Lie with the dying miser's hoard to-night ; 
And roses that once bloomed on beauty's cheek, 
And strength that left the loser, so weak ! 

Were yon not rich enough, heartless year, 
To leave me those few things I held most dear ? 
Or did you take a pleasure in my pain ? 
My simple treasures were not much to gain, 
And yet, old dying year, I prized them so, 
It wrings my heart, I cannot let them go. 

They were the gifts you gave me when a child, 
Sweet glances from bright eyes, and lips that 

smiled. 
And — my bright wealth is gone. I need not tell 
Of what you robbed me, that I loved so well ; 
0, give me back my treasure ere you go 
To your last sleep beneath the frozen snow. 

I thought you were my friend when first you 

came, 
And ever and again I blessed your name. 
You gave me something that became so dear 
I scarce can let it go, old dying year ; 
And then you took your gift away from me, 
And I am tossed upon an unknown sea. 

give me back, I pray, the nights of June, 
The fragrant flowers heavy with perfume ; 



THE DEATH OF THE YEAH. 97 

And one March day, so laden with delight — 
Give them, give them back to me to-night ! 
And sweet September — must they all, all go, 
And leave me in a wilderness of woe? 

The night grows wilder and the winds more lond, 
The frightened moon creeps underneath a cloud. 
The golden sands of life are nearly run ; 
A few more moments, then his life is done ; 
From his cold hands his stolen jewels fall, 
He struggles now no more, but waits the call. 

He lifts his cold, wan face for one more breath, 
And feels about him close the arms of death ; 
The winds go sweeping through the boughs o'er- 

head, 
Bearing this message : " '95 is dead/' 
'Tis done ! The ghosts of years that are no more 
Have borne another comrade to their shore. 

And I am sitting here alone — alone ! 
With dying embers on the cold hearthstone, 
Like hopes and golden dreams that could not 

last; 
I'm sitting mid the ashes of the past, 
Bereft of treasures that made life so bright, 
Buried in the old year's grave to-night. 

7 



THE RECOMPENSE. 

THE mountain peak that lifts its storm- 
scarred face 
Close to the frowning clouds and thunder's 
roar 
Stands patient, waiting in its troubled place 
Till clouds are past and boisfrous storms are 
o'er. 

For well it knows that when the day is done, 
On peace-crowned nights, when azure skies are 
clear, 

Than valleys, that receive the kiss of sun, 
To the great golden stars, it is more near. 

So we who on life's way the storms may meet, 
And find our skies with gloomy clouds o'ercast, 

May cheer ourselves with this assurance sweet : 
We shall be near the stars of peace at last. 

The life that it attuned to heights of bliss 
Will ever vibrate to the strokes of woe ; 

And souls that feel a perfect calm in this, 
In fairer life no greater joy will know. 

Like wondrous instrument, to voice song 

The heart must first be not unknown to sighs ; 



THE RECOMPENSE. 99 

A richer joy is that which we so long 

Have viewed as out of reach through tear- 
stained eyes. 

The river that is rushing to the sea, 

O'er jagged rocks down many a rugged hill, 

Is happier than the pool can ever be, 

That standeth in the valley calm and still. 

For it will reach the ocean by and by, 

And leave behind the rough and broken land ; 

While, though the endless years shall onward fly, 
Within the valley still the pool will stand. 

So we, who long to stop and step aside, 
And dwell where ceaseless calms unbroken 
reign — 

0, know we not that, if it could be tried, 
Wje give up all the joys with the pain? 

We rise alone, by climbing in this life; 

'Tis not a question of who can, but will ; 
The heights are waiting, past the storms and 
strife, 

They never will be reached by standing still. 

We know not always how to breast the tide, 
But past mistakes may serve as stepping- 
stones, 



100 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And with a steadfast purpose as our guide 
Our trembling feet may rest at last on thrones. 

And those who suffer most are best prepared 
For perfect bliss when perfect bliss shall 
come. 

Hath not a loving Father, One who cared, 
Arranged it all, and waits to lead us home ? 

So why should we sit down with idle tears, 
And fret and mourn at every petty loss ? 

We know not why, but 'tis the rule of years 
That every crown hides under it a cross. 

And they who long the golden crown to wear 
Must bravely lift the cross that must be borne ; 

And courage will be sent to help them bear 
The cross, until the crown at last is worn. 

So cast aside your misery and woe, 

hearts that in the darkness blindly grope ; 

A glorious recompense you yet shall know 
If you will only struggle, wait, and hope. 



THE OLD APPLE TREE. 

®D0 you remember the old apple tree, 
Where we played in the days gone by, 
The song of the birds and the hum of the bees 

And the blue of the soft Southern sky ? 
How we swung on its limbs in the bright days 
of spring, 
When its branches with blossoms were gay, 
And were oft covered o'er with its pink and 
white snow? 
0, I long for its beauty to-day ! 

do you remember the old apple tree, 

With its apples so tempting and red ? 
How we scratched feet and fingers as upward 
we climbed 
To the prize that awaited overhead ? 
How we'd sit on the limbs when we reached 
them at last, 
As proud as a king on his throne, 
Care-free and as happy as any wild bird? 
Alas that those days should have flown ! 

have you forgotten the old apple tree? 
To-day in my still, darkened room, 



102 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Like a dead chord of music ghost fingers have 
stirred, 
Floats round me its dainty perfume ; 
And I wonder if you, little playmate of old, 

Wherever to-day you may be, 
Have lost in life's shadow our youth's sunny 
gold, 
And forgotten the old apple tree ? 



THE LAND OF BY AND BY. 

THEEE is a wondrous country, 
Where the skies are always clear, 
Where the birds are always singing 

In the springtime of the year; 
Where the fruits are ripe and luscious, 

And the flowers never die, 
And our hearts at last are happy — 
'Tis the land of by and by. 

Round this country's sunny border 

Flows a beauteous sapphire sea, 
On whose calm and sunlit waters 

All life's treasure ships sail free — 
Free, with not a wind to wreck them ; 

All life's clouds and storms are past, 
And they reach the magic heaven 

When our dreams come true at last. 

In this happy fairy country 

Are the joys we've craved so long, 
And its perfumed air has power 

To change every sigh to song. 
Every wrong at last is righted, 

Love is ruler of the land, 
And his subjects are united, 

Heart with heart, as hand with hand. 



104 DBEAMS AND REALITIES. 

Gone life's heartaches and its sorrows, 

Left behind its cares and tears, 
Glorious land of bliss unending ! 

Land that we have loved for years ! 
how often we look forward, 

Often through a tear-dimmed eye, 
To some cherished hope's fulfillment 

In the land of by and by ! 

Even when life's storms are thickest, 

And our dreams in ruins lie, 
Hope points out a golden finger 

Toward the land of by and by. 
And the whole world, strong and feeble, 

Eich and poor, and great and small, 
E'en against our wiser judgment 

Follow onward at her call. 

Follow on where Hope is leading, 

Like a will-o'-wisp's bright spark, 
Keeping ever just beyond us, 

While around us all is dark. 
"Onward !" though our hearts are heavy, 

Thus we hearken to her cry, 
All will be made right forever 

In the land of by and by. 



ALONE, YET NOT ALONE. 

"Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of 
the world." 

SOMETIMES my cross seems very hard to 
bear, 
Sometimes I falter 'neath my weight of care, 
And sorrows press too heavy to be borne, 
And in the darkness I feel all alone ; 
Then to me come the words of that dear Friend 
That He'll be with me, even to the end. 

When hearts grow cold and friends forsake, 
When cruel wrong makes my poor heart to ache, 
Like stars that shine from out the darkest night, 
Those words return and make my pathway 

bright ; 
For though my life of grief may have full share, 
No way can be all gloom if He is there. 

When storms of sorrow shake my inmost soul, 
And pains, like ocean billows, o'er me roll, 
And when I feel most lonely in my grief, 
I cry to him for comfort and relief ; 
For though defenseless, Jesus will defend, 
And walk beside me even to the end. 



ALIEN LILIES. 

THEY came, those fragrant treasures, 
Flowers both gay and bright; 
But the ones I prized the highest 
Were the lilies, pure and white. 

There were queenly, full-blown blossoms, 

Heavy with rare perfume, 
And buds whose waxen petals 

Had hardly dreamed of bloom. 

Two buds whose captive sweetness, 
From prisons pure and white, 

At the Master's silent bidding, 
Were only freed to-night. 

Two lilies dwarfed in blooming 

So far from the parent stem, 
But wondrous sweet and perfect, 

And a lesson I learned from them : 

That though our lives are severed 
From what once made them sweet, 

By silent, patient growing 
They yet may be complete. 



ALIEN LILIES. 107 

Not with the glorious beauty 

That once they might have known, 

But with a sweet perfection 

That the angels make their own. 

Though a breath of sadness mingles 
With their perfume, faint and rare, 

Though they are dwarfed in blooming, 
They are none less sweet and fair. 

So though our lives are severed 
From the dreams and hopes of old, 

Like these sweet alien lilies, 
Our best may yet unfold. 

And though a hint of sorrow, 

From the tears that we have known, 

Will mingle with life's perfume, 
We've a sweetness all our own. 




HE SPEAKS TO ME. 

WHO says God's voice is silent? 
That to us he speaks no word ? 
List, then, thou unbeliever, 

When the leafless trees are stirred 
By the voice of the north wind, 

Bidding nature sleep once more, 
Sweet emblem of the dreamless rest 
For troubled hearts in store. 

He speaks to me in springtime, 

When the first bluebird's trill 
Calls to the buried flowers 

Beside the frozen rill. 
In the flower's resurrection 

My Father speaks to me, 
Saying, "Behold, another life 

Is also waiting thee." 

He speaks to me at evening hour, 

When adown the western sky 
Gleam colors more resplendent 

Than any earthly dye. 
Then I catch, it seems, an echo 

From beyond the pearly gates, 
And he says : "Behold, my daughter, 

Wondrous splendor for thee waits." 



HE SPEAKS TO ME. 109 

Again, when countless jewels 

Shine upon the brow of night, 
I read my Father's message 

In trembling worlds of light, 
And he seems to say: "Be patient 

With your earthly ills and care. 
Past the stars sweet peace is waiting, 

And a robe and crown are there." 

And in the inky darkness, 

Like a lost soul's black despair, 
I see the red-tongued lightning, 

And I know that He is there. 
He who holds the raging tempest 

In the hollow of His hand 
Speaks to me with wild winds' voices 

Of a happy, stormless land. 

He speaks to me! joy 

Unspeakable, complete! 
Though heartless worlds forsake me, 

I hear His voice so sweet; 
And though His pitying message 

Through the lips of death may be, 
I will not cease to trust Him, 

For I know He speaks to me. 

Speaks to me, though poor and lowly ; 
Speaks to me in accents mild; 



110 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Speaks of peace and love and comfort ; 

Speaks, and calls e'en me his child. 
Wondrous joy! Strangest story, 

That such happiness can be, 
That, despite my human weakness, 

God from heaven speaks to me ! 




AUTUMN LEAVES. 

THEY are falling, softly falling, 
Fluttering down on golden wing ; 
And to me they are calling — calling 

Of the far-off days of spring : 
April with her shine and showers, 

When they budded fresh and fair ; 
Gladsome May, whose sunny hours 
Nurtured beauty everywhere. 

They are floating — turning — floating, 

Filling hollows brown and old, 
Till, like misers, they are gloating 

O'er their wealth of gleaming gold. 
Down the air the leaves are drifting, 

Like a homeless bird awing, 
Through the barren branches sifting, 

And a song they seem to sing. 

Golden summer days are ended, 

Silvery summer nights are past ; 
Shine and shadow now are blended 

In the web of autumn vast. 
Golden dreams, like summer glory, 

In the dusk of autumn eves 
Drift away — the old, old story — 

Wither like the autumn leaves. 



112 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

The} r are driting — earthward drifting- 

Autumn leaves of red and gold; 
But to heaven the trees are lifting 

Empty arms all bare and cold. 
So we stand when gloom is folding 

Golden dreams that did not last, 
And our empty arms we're holding — 

Holding ever toward the past. 




HANDS. 

LITTLE hands so soft and fair, 
Dimpled hands that catch at air, 
Eose-leaf palms and fingers small, 
Tiny hands that hearts enthrall — 
Baby hands. 

Little hands so smooth and fair, 
Little hands that jewels wear ; 
Hidden half in lacy fold, 
More than one true heart they hold — 
Girlish hands. 

Trembling hands so frail and white, 
Orange blossoms hold to-night, 
Clasping fingers firm and strong, 
Vowed to guard her, her life long — 
Wedded hands. 

Tender hands with reverent touch, 
Throbbing heart that loves so much, 
Soothing pain with sweet caress, 
Made to comfort and to bless — 
Mother hands. 

Patient hands so rough and worn 
From the crosses they have borne, 
8 



114 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Void of symmetry or grace, 
Years of toil on them we trace — 
Tired hands. 

Little hands so white and cold, 
Marble hands that lilies hold, 
Weary hands that lie so still, 
Frozen heart no love can thrill — 
Lifeless hands. 

Lovely hands no longer worn 
From the toils that they have borne, 
Pure hands that clasp and hold 
Tenderly a harp of gold — 
Angel hands. 



A DREAM OF HEAVEN. 

T DEEAMED of the heavenly city, 
1 In the gloom and chill of the night, 
And a weary earth-stained spirit 

Stood afraid— at the portals of light; 
For the beauty and glory of heaven 

Shone out through the pearly gate, 
And the harps of the angels were ringing 

With anthems that never abate. 

And the soul cried aloud to the angel 

That stood at the heavenly gate : 
"Can it be that such joys and splendor, 

Can it be that for me they await ?" 
And softly the angel guard answered, 

In tones that were tender and low : 
"He hath said, though your sins be as scarlet, 

He would cleanse you and make you like 
snow." 

And the soul passed in through the portal, 

While the low voice tenderly spoke ; 
And amid the swell of the glad anthem, 

From that beautiful dream I awoke. 
And though the dream came in the darkness 

And in the night faded away, 
Yet there clings round my soul, like sweet 
perfume, 

An echo of peace all the day. 



MY DARLING. 

IN the morning when the light 
Calls me from my dream of night. 
My darling; 
Then my first thought is of thee, 
That thou art so dear to me, 
That I long your face to see, 
My darling. 

When the evening shadows creep 
O'er the world and bid us sleep, 

My darling; 
Then the bright stars in the blue 
Seem to whisper, love, of you, 
Seem to say your heart is true, 

My darling. 



Every bird upon the wing 
Seems of you a song to sing, 

My darling; 
All the summer winds that blow 
Seem your praises sweet to know, 
Seem to say I love you so, 

My darling. 



MY DARLING. 117 

And when moonlight's silver beams 
Wrap the earth like shadowy dreams, 

My darling; 
Then I waft a prayer on high 
Through the star-be jeweled sky 
That no harm may thee come nigh, 

My darling. 




JUST ANOTHER SORROW. 

THESE' S a mansion by the river 
Where the water lilies quiver, 
Where the golden summer sun falls o'er the floor ; 
There a little maid doth wait 
For a form to pass the gate 
That will come to cheer and love her nevermore. 

There's a name she never speaks, 
There are tears upon her cheeks, 
There are days that were so happy that are dead 
beyond recall; 
There are harsh words that were spoken — 
They have given back each token ; 
And there's just another sorrow in this old world 
— that is all. 

Oftentimes she sees his face 

In some crowded public place, 
And to her eyes the bitter tear drops start; 

For she was not to blame 

For the bitterness that came, 
And she carries with her now a broken heart. 

So the heedless world moves on, 
And the summer soon is gone; 



JUST ANOTHER SORROW. 



119 



They have no time for pausing, though a fellow- 
comrade fall; 
And once more she takes her place, 
With a smile upon her face, 
And there's just another sorrow in this old world 
— that is all. 




A LOVE THAT WILL NOT DIE. 

THEY tell me skies are leaden, 
And winds are keen and cold; 
For me the roses redden, 

And the world is bright with gold. 
A thousand dancing sunbeams 

Make glory in the sky, 
For I know somebody loves me 
With a love that will not die. 

Then away with foolish fancies 

That came with childish years, 
Like will-o'-wisp that dances 

From laughter into tears; 
Give me this sweet assurance 

That need not reason why — 
I know somebody loves me 

With a love that will not die. 

So all the world is spring to me, 

Though winter's in the air; 
My life is sweet tranquillity, 

And everything is fair. 
No sorrow glooms above my way 

To make my joys fly by, 
For I know somebody loves me 

With a love that will not die 



SUNRISE. 

'T*- HE god of day came to this world of ours, 
L And in the sky clouds blossomed forth like 
flowers. 
Fond day made ready for the coming king 
By touching into beauty — everything. 
Soft cushions for her lover's feet she rolled 
Of rosy-tinted vapor, flecked with gold; 
And called on morning, fairest of her maids, 
To wake the sleeping flowers in the glades. 

The winds came forth, and shadowy curtains hung 
About the merry god, who, laughing, flung 
Them off again, and threw the rippling stream 
A kiss, that made the waters dance and gleam. 
A thousand wild flowers lifted in the glade 
Their faces to the smiling, rosy maid; 
And every cup and bell with diamonds hung, 
That sparkled in the rays the day-god flung. 

Morning passed on, and speaking but a word 
Awoke the sleeping trees and every bird; 
And soon upon the breeze rose, higher and higher, 
An anthem by the merry feathered choir. 
And Day looked on her work, and smiling stood 
A white-robed maiden in the fragrant wood, 



122 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

A crown of dewy flowers on her hair, 
That twined like threads of gold her face most 
fair. 

Her light feet stepped on hill and dale and stream, 
And where her foot had been remained a gleam. 
Upward she climbed by steps of perfumed air 
To her king's conch to rest and nestle there ; 
And when her skyward journey was complete 
She laid her treasures at her charmer's feet; 
And smiling Nature seemed to softly say : 
"The night has fled — once more 'tis perfect day." 




AN HOUR IN EDEN. 
t-ry-vjg sa j^ ^at every being on this earth 
<d- Hath found somewhere an hour of perfect 
bliss, 
Where past and future joys melt away 

And are but shadows when compared to this. 

When all the world's forgotten, and just two 
Are in it; for an hour, a week, a day — 

And we, with angels, would not lots exchange — 
We all will live in Eden once, they say. 

And then I fall to thinking — have I found 

That blissful time that comes but once to men ? 

When for a single hour I knew pure joy, 
Then fell back to the common lot again. 

And out from dark oblivion floats a dream, 

That was not all a dream, though soon 'twas 
o'er — 

My soul cast anchor in life's rushing stream, 
And stepped with winged feet on Eden's shore. 

The air was balmy, and the breath of flowers 
Was everywhere; above me sailed the moon, 

And something seemed to whisper softly, "Peace ;" 
I dreamed not that unrest could come so soon. 



124 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

7 Tis often, when we feel the most secure, 
Our ship is drifting near some hidden rock, 

And some sweet hour, when we least would think, 
We strike against it with a sudden shock. 

We are but mortals, and we cannot know 

How near the isles of joy the quicksands lie, 

And so we drink the cup Fate offers us, 

And think not how the blissful moments fly. 

And so I lingered in that beauteous spot — 

The world had narrowed down; there were but 
two, 

Walking with fated feet and thinking not 
Of past or future, while life onward flew. 

No words were needed in that land of dreams ; 

A glance of the eye, the clasp of a dear hand 
Was language all sufficient, for it seems 

The heart such language can best understand. 

Holding your hands, I read your very soul — 
Read, and dreamed not that I could read it 
wrong ; 

Looked in your eyes, and saw the lovelight gleam, 
And all my heart burst into floods of song. 

'Twas o'er, I woke, the blissful dream was past. 
Mine is a common lot, and light of day 



AN HOUR IN EDEN. 125 

Took all the roseate colors from my dream, 
Yet we all live in Eden once, they say. 

Once more my ship goes rushing down life's 
stream ; 

Once more the surging billows round me roll. 
Sometimes the hour in Eden's but a dream, 

And leaveth but a memory to the soul. 

But though the storms of Fate may fret life's sea, 
And my frail ship may anchor nevermore, 

I never can forget that glorious night 
When I cast anchor by fair Eden's shore. 




WISHING. 

TELL me, redbird, tell me true, 
If I wish and look at you, 
Will the future bring to me 
Just the things I long to see ? 

Is there hidden 'neath your wing- 
Power, my heart's desire to bring ? 
If so, do your very best, 
Birdie with the crimson breast. 

I am lonely here to-day — 
One I love is far away. 
Fly across the miles and bring, 
Hidden safely 'neath your wing, 

A dear message fond and sweet 
From the one I long to greet. 
Tell me that dear heart is true, 
And I'll think no bird like you. 



IN A SPANISH PRISON. 
[A dream.] 

g LOWLY the silvery moonbeams are falling 
O'er an old castle built by the main— 
Where the lone waves to each other are calling, 
In the far-away kingdom of Spain. 

Lonely the place, and the hour more lonely, 
Silence complete, save the waves on the shore, 

Which in their wild sobbing seemed to say only : 
"Free nevermore, free nevermore." 

Slowly the moonbeams go timidly creeping 
Into deep nooks with black shadows hung. 

Into the gloom of that dark place of weeping 
Like a stray arrow the moon ray is flung. 

Oozy the place with the slime of long ages — 
Rank with the smell of the filth and the mold. 

Write it down on your heart's inmost pages 
Ye who are sheltered at home in the fold. 

Gently the moonbeams go gliding and creeping 
Into a corner more dark than the rest ; 

Resting at last on a face that lies sleeping, 

Kissing the hands that are clasped on his breast. 



128 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Who is this man — or the wreck of one, rather ? 

In this lone dungeon, who can he be? 
Why is he here ? Great God, our Father ! 

It is a son of the "brave and the free." 

See the blue uniform, blood stains upon it; 

Long are the days since he donned it as new ; 
Proud was his young heart to think he had won it 

Place in the ranks of "the red, white, and blue." 

Look ! The moonbeams kissing the sleeper 
Wake him ; his wan face is raised to the light. 

God of the just ! could a sword blade sink deeper 
Into my heart on this terrible night? 

Dear beloved face, whose last tender kisses 

Pressed my cold lips when he bade me farewell ; 

Love of my life that my heart ever misses, 
Lying alone in this long living hell. 

Hark ! there's a sound, and the vision is shattered ; 

In through my window the morning lights 
gleam ; 
On the dark seas of the night it is scattered — 

Thanks be to God, it was only a dream ! 



DRIFTING. 

AN open boat on a silvery sea 
Was drifting with the tide ; 
Nothing above but blue, blue sky, 
And below the waters wide. 

Not a ripple marred the surface clear 

As far as the eye could see, 
Yet the boat was drifting away from land 

Farther out to sea. 

Thus you drifted away from me, my love, 

Till we are far apart; 
And the world, with all its waves and tides, 

Lies between me and your heart. 

I once could rest within your arms, 
Like the boat on the golden strand ; 

But now you have drifted far away, 
Like the boat away from land. 

But the tide will turn, though it may be long, 
And the boat come back from sea; 

And perhaps in the ebb and flow of life 
You may come back to me. 
9 



COME BACK TO ME. 

I THOUGHT I had buried the old love, 
Till I saw your face again ; 
I thought till your eyes looked into mine 
I was through with the old dull pain. 

But the love was only sleeping 
And smoldering all the while; 

All the old love and longing 

Came back when I saw you smile. 

You loved me once in the days gone by ; 

0, the old, old cry of pain ! 
Darling, come back to me; 

Darling, love me again. 

If I could live to see your face 
And feel no nutter at the heart, 

I then could face the world once more, 
And in it bear my part. 

The old love wakes and calls, dear, 
Since your face once more I see; 

Darling, love me again; 
Darling, come back to me. 

The past will all be forgotten 
And forgiven, if you will come; 

My heart's doors are standing open 
To welcome you, darling, home. 



THE SHATTERED IDOL. 

1 WANDERED forth into the world, a child, 
And all my heart lay dormant and asleep ; 
I looked on life and deemed it fair and smiled, 
Nor dreamed my smiling eyes so soon should 
weep; 
I wandered on and found, one golden day, 
My idol, but alas, it was but clay ! 

The flowers of love grew bright beside my way, 
The stars of hope shone in my life's fair sky ; 

How could I know the stars should fade away? 
How could I know the flowers so soon would die ? 

Life was a paradise and love a dream, 

Like rays of sunlight on a shadowed stream. 

My idoPs face was fair, as some fair flower, 
Pure as marble image, white and cold ; 

And over me it cast some mystic power 

That bound my heart in love's chain of gold. 

I thought that face, so free from taint of sin, 

Was but a mirror of the heart within. 

I built a throne within my trusting heart, 
And placed on it this one I loved so well, 



132 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And in this paradise we lived apart 

From all the world. Ah, who can tell 
What bliss was mine until one bitter day 
I found my cherished idol was but clay ? 

Unworthy of my love? At last I woke 
To find my happiness was but a dream ! 

My idol fell with mighty crash and broke, 
And left me all alone, without a gleam 

Of what was once a glorious, brilliant day — 

Alone — with but a little heap of clay ! 

Alas, so many of us love in vain 

An idol that we think is pure and fair ! 

And some day, with deadly cruel pain, 
We see our daydream vanish in thin air, 

And learn, when all the light has fled away, 

The idol that we loved was only clay. 




FOR YOU. 

I'LL give a smile to every friend 
And a hand clasp warm and true ; 
But the tenderest word and the sweetest smile 
I'll always keep for you. 

I'll send a thought to the absent one, 
Who wanders in countries new; 

But where'er you go, whate'er you do, 
I'll keep a thought for you. 

I may give a kiss, in greeting sweet, 

To some one who loves me true ; 
But through weary years a kiss I'll keep 

To give at last to you. 

I'll give my friendship with willingness; 

But, darling, with eyes so bine, 
Though my life be lonely for want of love, 

I'll save my heart for you. 



MOONLIGHT AND LILIES. 

[STOOD beneath the stars last night, 
With one pure lily in my hand; 
The moon flooded the world with silvery light, 
A hush lay over all the sleeping land. 

The faintest breeze whispered among the trees, 

A wakeful bird called softly to its mate. 
My heart said: "If life's scenes were all like 
these, 
Then mortals ne'er would murmur against 
Fate." 

But ah ! sometimes the skies are clouded, 

In pulseless hands the lilies sometimes bloom ; 

In robes of sorrow our crushed hopes are shroud- 
ed; 
No ray of light pierces the midnight gloom. 

And then I thought of one I knew and loved, 
Who was as fair as these fair, fragile flowers, 

Whose love for me as frail as lilies proved ; 
Like them, it lived a few brief, golden hours. 

And as I breathed the lilies' perfumed breath, 
And looked upon the shining star-decked sky, 



MOONLIGHT AND LILIES. 135 

I seemed to see again that sweet, fair face, 
And hear that voice as in the days gone by. 

The morning finds the lily faded — dead, 
And clouds shut out the beauty of the sky ; 

They both are emblems of the days now fled — 
The golden dreams of youth, so swift to die. 

And yet I would not change the lily's life, 
I would not have the skies forever blue ; 

But if 'twere mine to make or mar my life, 
I would have had your love more true. 




JUST A SMILE. 

I WAS troubled; doubts and heartaches 
Hung about me like a cloud; 
And I felt that none could comfort — 
Felt alone, though in a crowd. 

But some magic magnetism 

Made me look back, after while; 

And my burden all seemed lifted, 
By one glance — by just a smile. 

J Mid that crowd of careless faces, 
Some indifferent and some cold, 

That rare smile seemed full of sunshine, 
Worth to me far more than gold. 

All the world seemed to grow brighter 

With a glory none can tell; 
Something seemed to softly whisper : 

"Keep up, heart, all will be well.' 7 

Ah ! it is so strange we keep them, 
And look so coldly all the while, 

When we might make some heart lighter 
By one look — by just a smile. 



TO A FRIEND. 

rOU asked me to write you a poem. 
I promised I would, and yet 
I hardly know what to write of 
Now that my task is set. 

Shall I tell you of summer's beauty ? 

Or the sunset's royal glow? 
Or shall I write of mountains 

With shining caps of snow ? 

Shall I choose a dainty violet 

For a subject, modest but sweet? 

Or shall I bring pure lilies, 
And lay them at your feet? 

Or shall I tell of the diamond, 
With glittering rays of light ? 

Or the stars — those sparkling jewels, 
Worn in the crown of Night? 

No ; better than sunset or mountains, 
Or summers wealth of bloom; 

Better than rarest jewels, 
Or flowers' sweet perfume, 



138 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Is the subject I have chosen, 

Never touched by a painter's art — 

A lovely flower that blossoms 
In the garden of the heart. 

A vine with twining tendrils 
That links two hearts together, 

A flower that blossoms 'mid sorrow's tears 
As well as in sunny weather — 

The lovely plant called friendship," 
The link 'twixt earth and heaven, 

The comforter of all distress, 
By a loving Father given. 

A plant like this grows in my heart ; 

One tendril twines toward thee ; 
0, will an answering friendship vine 

Grow from thy heart to me ? 



FOR YOUR DEAR SAKE. 

I SAW a little child to-day— 
A little boy, with eyes of blue. 
He looked up in my face and smiled, 
And somehow, love, I thought of you. 

A choking seemed to hold my breath ; 

It seemed to me my heart would break. 
I put my arm about the child, 

And kissed him, love, for your dear sake. 

Somehow the baby's tender smile 
And something in his eyes of blue 

Recalled a long-past happy day, 
And made me think of you. 

0, how a smile or e'en a look 

Some silent chords of memory shake ! 
And so I kissed the blue-eyed boy, 

Darling, for your dear sake. 



THE PALACE OF SILENCE. 

[An ancient legend says that near the city of Rome 
stood a monastery, whose inmates took a vow upon 
entering of eternal silence. It was a beautiful place, 
and they lived and worked as other men — only all 
communication either among themselves or with the 
outside world was cut off forever. Hence the name: 
"The Palace of Silence."] 

ALL day — all day do the sunbeams fall 
On ivied turret and crumbling wall, 
And all is still save the wild bird's call. 



No sound within — all hushed and still ! 

Its moss-grown towers crown the hill 

In the warm, bright sunshine, gray and chill. 

But look in yonder turret high 
At a window, to the tree tops nigh, 
A sad, white face looks to the sky. 

And a sound, like a sob, comes floating down, 
And I catch a glimpse of a monk's gray gown 
And whitened hair, like a silver crown. 



THE PALACE OF SILENCE. 14.1 

Ah me ! 'tis a weary life to lead — 
Nothing to love save book and creed, 
Nothing to hope while the long years speed. 

No music sweet, no childish shout 

Wakens the echoes 'round about — 

With the heart shut in, and the world shut out. 

For they have sworn, who enter there, 
Never in grief or in pain or care, 
Shall human voice stir the air. 

Children of sorrow are they who come 

Into the shelter of this home 

Where silence reigns from gate to dome. 

Only twice in the whole long day 

Is the silence broken, the people say ; 

Then the great bell tolls for the monks to pray. 

And they say that once in the long ago, 

In the dead of night, in the cold and snow, 

To this strange place did a woman go. 

And close to a window ledge she crept, 
And there all night a tryst she kept, 
While all around the cold world slept. 



142 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Next day, when the sunbeams sought the place, 
They found, clasped close in death's embrace, 
A monk and a woman ? face to face. 

None saw that scene, in the night's dark chill- 
But the dead hands clasped on the frozen sill 
Prove that Love is stronger than human will. 




THE DAYS OF LONG AGO. 

iffiv YEARS that have come ! years that have 
\J gone ! 

Pause a moment as yon go. 
Turn back the pages in life's great book, 

And make me a child once more. 

0, I sigh for the days of long ago, 
When my heart was as light as air, 

When childhood sorrows, like April snow, 
Melted 'neath sunshine fair! 

give me back the violet blue 

By the meadow brook's silvery gleam, 

And the sweet wild flowers that always grew 
Where the willows kiss the stream ! 

And my childhood playmates — where are they? 

Have they found life full of woe? 
Or have they found it the golden dream 

That we thought it long ago? 

The day is cold with wintry chill, 

And dark with the falling rain — 
And my heart is weary and clamors still 

For the dream that it dreamed in vain. 



144 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

The childhood days were made so sweet 
By freedom from thought of care — 

And those wonderful visions I had e'en then- 
The castles in the air. 

give me back the childhood joys 
And the loves that I knew then, 

And the childish faith and the simple trust 
That I had in my fellow-men. 

0, I long to-day for the sweet old days 

When hearts were fondly true ! 
And I trod the sun-clad, flower-decked ways 

That my happy childhood knew. 

They are gone — all gone, the joys of old, 
The home and its sunny nooks, 

The hours of play the livelong day, 
The flowers and rippling brooks. 

They are gone — all gone, the childish loves 
And the comrades I played with then, 

And the simple trust and the pure faith 
That I had in my fellow-men. 

For the rainbow dreams of childhood years 
Have faded as all dreams must. 



THE DAYS OF LONG AGO. 145 

And the castles of air, though wondrous fair, 
Have crumbled in the dust. 

And the day is cold with wintry chill 

And dull with a mist of rain, 
For my heart is weary and yearneth still 

For the dream that it dreamed in vain. 
10 




MY BROKEN LILY. 

®]STLY a sweet broken lily, 
But it once was fresh and fair, 
With pearly dew on its petals 

And a fragrance faint and rare. 
It rested npon the bosom 
Of one that I love well, 
And slept, soothed by the heaving 
Of his heart as it rose and fell. 

It was made by angel fingers, 

So was my darling's face, 
And as perfect as pure lilies 

Is each line of faultless grace. 
The moonbeams kissed the lily 

As you gave it, love, to me, 
And its broken petals seemed to breathe 

A message of love from thee. 

It is broken, sweet lily, and fading ; 

Its leaves are fallen apart; 
But it had one glorious hour 

When it lay so near your heart. 
I would that I were a lily, 

If you would wear the flower ; 
I long to be cherished near your heart — 

If it were for but an hour. 



MY BROKEN LILY. 147 

tell me, lily, tell me, 

While I kiss your petals white, 
Did the heart that beat beneath you 

Beat for me to-night? 
Did he whisper my name, sweet lily ? 

Does he love me ? 0, lily, tell ! 
Yon slumbered on his heart, 

And must know its secret well. 

1 wish he were a lily, 

So pure, so stately, and white, 
That I might fold him to my heart 

And kiss him once to-night. 
Then press the flower with many a word 

Of love spoken o'er and o'er; 
Press it with sweet caresses, 

And keep it for evermore. 




AS THE YEARS HAVE WILLED. 

A LITTLE child, with wondering, earnest eyes 
And glossy braids of softest dark-brown 
hair; 
A face half innocence and half surprise 

That looked on life and smiled and thought it 
fair; 
That with her dollies and her cat at play, 
Thought life a glorious holiday. 

A slender girl, with fair and thoughtful brow, 
Whose earnest eyes are full of troubled tears ; 

She reaches out her empty arms right now 

For something that has vanished with the years ; 

The sweet content that once the dollies brought 

In fairer treasures now is vainly sought. 

Ah me, 'tis only as the years have willed 
That when the girlish toys are laid aside 

A longing comes that never can be stilled — 
A wishing that is never satisfied. 

For though Fate deals us out a golden store, 

We hold up eager hands and ask for more. 



MINE— TO-NIGHT. 

COME, love, let us flee away, 
Away — our good steeds wait; 
If we will ride till the dawn of day, 

We may outride stern Fate — 
Cruel Fate that takes you away from me, 

My love, my heart's delight. 
We're slaves of Fate, but now we're free, 
For you are mine to-night. 

stars that shine in the far-off blue, 

My love is mine once more, 
And my heart is happy to-night and true 

As it was in the days of yore. 
Shine on forever, glorious stars, 

Shed o'er us your golden light; 
We know not what the morrow may bring, 

But he is mine to-night. 

Hold my hands closer, darling, 

Hold them forever so; 
If to-night would last till life is past, 

You need never let them go. 
We are free as the wind that blows, love, 

My darling, my heart's delight; 
Though the hour swiftly goes, love, 

I'm happy — you're mine to-night. 



150 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

We are two poor, frail boats 

Tossed on the restless sea; 
And the days may come as the days have gone, 

And drift you no more to me. 
I wish we were cast on a desert isle, 

That the ocean in its might 
Would guard, so that you might always be 

Mine — as you are to-night. 

You say you must go away — 

see how the stars grow pale ! 
My heart pleads : "Dearest, stay." 

List how the night winds wail ! 
E'en Nature grieves for me, 

Who might nevermore be bright, 
For when I say farewell to thee 

It may be a last good night. 

Fate is so cruel, darling, 

It may tear us apart, 
And the beautiful dawn of another morn 

May bring me a broken heart. 
So kiss me once more before you go, 

My love, my heart's delight. 
To-morrow's sun may dawn in woe, 

But you are mine to-night. 



IF YOU COULD KNOW. 

IF you could know, dear, in the days to come 
That in the past I really loved you much ; 
That often now, when in life's busy hum 

My heart is yearning for one tender touch, 
One smile or loving word, such as I knew 

In that dead past, o'er which tears do flow — 
Perhaps you would have kinder been and true, 
If you could know. 

If you could know how oft I sit and dream 

Those dear days over, when your love was mine ; 

How life can never be what once it seemed, 
The sun of love for me no more can shine — 

Perhaps you would recall the days of old 
When you said you loved me, loved me so ! 

And know my life has lost its tints of gold, 
If you could know. 

If you could know how often in the night 

I dream that you are near me once again, 
How your fond kisses make my heart so light, 

And wake to find the waking only pain — 
For nevermore will your lips press my own, 
Though I would give much to have it so. 
What would you do, dear — would you doubt my 
love ? — 

If you could know? 



152 



DREAMS AND REALITIES. 



If you could know — ah well, you never can ! — 
Your life and mine are separate and apart. 

Though I can nevermore clasp your hand, 
Your image I can cherish in my heart. 

Your earnest, pleading, tender eyes of blue — 
My heart is lonely, for I miss them so. 

Perhaps you would have been less cruel, more true, 
If you could know. 




TRUSTING, AFTER ALL. 

["Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him."— Job 
xiii. 15.] 

HNANSWERED still— the prayer I have been 
praying, 
Praying so long, though oft the tear drops fall ; 
But still my feeble lips the words are saying, 
And I am hoping, trusting, after all. 

Though dark the clouds and storms are o'er me 
beating, 

I won't give up, whatever may befall; 
And in the darkness I am still repeating 

My prayer, and hoping, trusting after all. 

For surely He who careth for the sparrows 
Will hear me if I long and patient call, 

And give me what so long I have desired, 
For he knows I am trusting after all. 

So I will pray it still, though still unanswered 
My prayer is, and my eyes with tears are dim ; 

For I am praying to the blessed Master, 

xA.nd "though He slay me, I can trust in Him." 



SOMEHOW IT WILL ALL COME RIGHT. 

SOMETIMES your heart is burdened. 
And your cross seems hard to bear ; 
But a Comforter is promised 

Who will all our burdens share. 
Sometimes your skies are clouded, 

But to-morrow will be more bright ; 
Don't faint by the way, my brother — 
Somehow it will all come right. 

Sometimes, while we walk in darkness, 

The bitter tears will come ; 
But just over the hill we're climbing 

Shines out the light of home. 
The struggle has been a hard one, 

But the goal is just in sight. 
Don't pause by the way repining — 

Somehow it will all come right. 

Sometimes when we see around us 

Our hopes in fragments fall, 
We feel that the load we carry 

Is the heaviest load of all. 
Cheer up, for the fairest morning 

Comes after the darkest night; 
And if we will wait with patience — 

Somehow it will all come right. 



SOMEHOW IT WILL ALL COME RIGHT. 155 

Sometimes we may be lonely, 

But the loneliness never mind, 
For a friend may arise from somewhere 

That we didn't expect to find. 
Though the morning be passed in sorrow, 

There may come with the evening light 
A promise of glad to-morrow — 

Somehow it will all come right. 



LOVE'S BORDERLAND. 

SWEETHEART, we are walking with fated 
feet 
Over youth's golden sand; 
And the path we are treading with footsteps fleet 
Is love's own borderland. 

There is music in every wind that blows, 

A chorus, wondrous — grand! 
And beauty in every flower that grows 

When we tread love's borderland. 

There is hope in every sunset cloud 

By twilight breezes fanned, 
And the moonbeams whisper those hopes aloud 

When in love's borderland. 

The birds are singing a glad new song, 

The waters kiss the strand, 
And Fate is guiding our feet along 

To love's own borderland. 

Sweetheart, we cannot turn away 

From the course that Fate has planned — 

Let's wander on till our locks are gray 
In love's own borderland. 



love's borderland. 157 

But storms may beat and years may fleet, 

Our lives long since were planned ; 
And Fate will guide our trembling feet 

Back to love's borderland. 

So, sweetheart, look into my eyes, 

Come hold me by the hand ; 
We are nearing the fields of Paradise 

By love's fair borderland. 




THE LAST QUADRILLE. 

'•^pWAS New Year's Eve. The flashing lights 

J- Ne'er lit a gayer scene — 
A ballroom with its whirling throng 

And bowers of festive green. 
From sheltered nooks sweet music flowed 

Like the bird songs in June; 
And throbbing hearts and dancing feet 

Beat time in merry tune. 

"Take your places for de las' quadrille !" 

The jolly prompters cried; 
And down the shining floor the feet 

Of many dancers glide. 
"Will you dance the last quadrille with me ?" 

A voice whispers low. 
"Don't say you're tired; dance this quadrille— 

The last, you know." 

Her little hand upon his arm 

She lays with dainty grace, 
And 'mong the glittering throng they move, 

And take the leader's place. 
Her little foot impatiently 

Taps on the polished floor, 
And eagerly she listens 

Till the fiddler calls: "First four!" 



THE LAST QUADRILLE. 159 

Her sweet flushed face was fairer 

Than the flowers in May, 
And her laughing eyes were brighter 

Than the sparkling ocean spray. 
And her dimpled shoulders gleaming 

Through their clouds of snowy lace 
Seemed but a fitting garden 

For the flower of her face. 

"I love you, dear," he whispered 

As down the room they glide. 
"Won't you love me just a little?" 

"Ladies change !" the fiddler cried. 
And the smiling eyes look back at him — 

A tender "yes," perchance — 
As they are separated 

In the mazes of the dance. 

"Swing corners !" now the fiddler calls 

In voice both strong and clear. 
And the dreamy music seemed to say : 

"I love you, love you, dear." 
When once again their fingers meet 

It makes their heart strings thrill, 
For Fate is dancing with them 

While they dance the last quadrille. 

"Hands all around, then right and left !" 
The jolly fiddler sings. 



160 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

"Say, darling, that you love me; 

Say you will wear my ring." 
"I love you, yes," she answered — 

On her cheeks the blushes glow — 
"But I"— "Ladies to de center!" 

And away she has to go. 

"Salute your pardners, one and all — 

There's just one quarter more; 
Now right hand to your pardner — 

Forward and back first four !" 
Two earnest, tender eyes of brown 

Look into blue eyes bright; 
The band is playing "Home, Sweet Home" — 

"May I see you home to-night?" 

"Yes, if"— "De ladies to de right !"— 

And with one tender glance 
Once more they drift asunder 

In the figures of the dance. 
The clock strikes twelve ; the last sweet notes 

Float out with magic thrill — 
"The old year died," he whispered, 

"As we danced the last quadrille. 

And when another new year comes, 

You'll be my very own ; 
And no king will be so happy, 

Though he sits on a golden throne." 



THE LAST QUADRILLE. 161 

The tender eyes are raised to his — 

"It cannot be," she said; 
"I told you that I loved you, 

But I am pledged to wed." 



'Tis New Year's Eve. The nickering flames 

Upon my hearth burn low, 
While I have been a-dreaming 

Of the long and long ago; 
For years and years have vanished 

Since I felt that tender thrill, 
When my darling said she loved me 

As we danced the last quadrille. 

Life has told its other stories, 

Other dreams have had their sway 
And have fallen into ruins, 

Since that long-past happy day. 
But on New Year's Eve, when musing, 

My lone heart responds still 
To the dream begun and ended 

When we danced the last quadrille. 
11 



LITTLE SWEETHEART. 

^JT LL the world is wondrous fair, 
1 1. Golden glory fills the air, 
And the spring's first fragrant flower bell a happy 
peal is ringing; 
And from the cherry tree 
Brown-winged songsters call to me, 
And "Sweetheart, little sweetheart," is the song 
that they are singing. 

It is murmured by the stream, 
Where its silvery waters gleam, 
And it's written 'mong the stars on the crown of 
night a-gleaming; 
And when I fall asleep, 
Fairy visions 'round me creep — 
And it's "Sweetheart, little sweetheart," that I hear 
when I am dreaming. 

Everywhere the sweet refrain, 
Time of joy or hour of pain, 
From out the laud of memory these words are ever 
straying ; 
All else I may forget, 
But they linger with me yet — 
And it's "Sweetheart, little sweetheart," I think I 
hear you saying. 



TO A LATE CHRYSANTHEMUM. 

YOU came like a ray of sunshine, 
When summer's heart was chill, 
And blossomed in royal beauty 

By the cottage on the hill. 
You came like a whispered promise 

Of flowers after snow, 
And brightened the world around you — 
Summer's sweet afterglow. 

You made our hearts remember 

That though the flowers fade 
'Neath the breath of chilling winter 

In meadow, hill, and glade, 
They will bloom again in the springtime, 

For God has willed it so; 
You teach us priceless lessons — 

Summer's sweet afterglow. 

Lessons of hope and loving 

We learn, sweet flower, from you ; 
Patience when hopes are fading 

And the gleams of sunshine few. 
Perhaps when the storm is over 

We may see the promised bow, 
Or find some hidden joy 

That will be the afterglow. 



ADRIFT. 

®UT of the darksome shadows 
Into a golden gleam 
My poor little lifeboat drifted 
On the current of the stream. 



Out of the midnight darkness 

Into the noonday glow 
I drifted for an hour — 

Then into the gloom once more. 

For a long time I had drifted — 

I laid my oars aside, 
And, watching the shadows, 

I drifted with the tide. 

What is the use of rowing 

When the billows beat me back? 
What is the use of trying 

To follow a beaten track ? 

What is the use of trying 
When all our toils are vain? 

What is the use of sowing 

When the harvest's only pain? 



ADRIFT. 165 

So cried my soul, despairing, 

And I laid my oars aside, 
And simply waiting, waiting, 

I drifted with the tide. 

Low hung the clouds above me, 

Loud was the thunder's roll; 
But on the wings of the tempest 

Light came into my soul — 

Light that was blinding, 

After the shades just past; 
Joy with yet a heartache — 

For I knew it could not last. 

Out of the clinging shadows, 

Into the radiant gleam 
Of a joy so fair, yet fleeting, 

That it may have been a dream. 

Low hung the storm clouds o'er me, 

When lo ! there came apace, 
Out of the night and the darkness, 

A glimpse of a long-loved face — 

A face that was glad and smiling 

In the lightning's fitful glow. 
For a moment my boat seemed drifting 

Back to the long ago. 



166 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Then the beautiful light was lifted, 
And into the night — alone — 

My poor little lifeboat drifted 
When the fleeting joy was flown. 

I caught up the oars, determined 
To guide my boat to shore; 

But they fell from my hand useless — 
I must drift for evermore. 

And swiftly the rushing current 
Bore me adown the stream, 

Leaving far behind me 

That one glad, golden gleam. 

But adown the winding river 
The echo is with me still — 

A memory that sets a-quiver 

My heart with a wondrous thrill. 

Some day in the warm, bright sunshine, 
Some night in storm and rain, 

By patiently waiting, waiting, 
I may drift to the light again. 



LOVE WILL FIND A WAY. 

I KNOW two hearts with the wide, wide world 
between, 
Two lives that sweetly blended long ago, 
Two hearts that throbbed and beat with trust and 
hope 
And love — each for the other once, I know. 

I know two hearts that met with tender touch, 
And lips that kissed with such a magic thrill, 

Two hearts that loved each other — ah, so much 
That memory liveth still. 

And though the wild, wild world rolled in between, 
And each from each has drifted far away, 

To cross the world and oceans vast and deep, 
I think that love will sometime find a way. 

For though the wide, wide world now lies between, 
Hope whispers softly to me : "Some sweet day 

These lives estranged will meet and blend again, 
For love will surely somehow find a way." 



THE THINGS I LOVE. 

1L0VE the earth when clad in robes of spring, 
Or summer, when the buds to flowers burst ; 
But dreary winter is most dear to me — 
'Twas in November that I knew you first. 

I love the winds that roam the world at will — 
They bring me whispers of a distant place ; 

They seem like kindred spirits, for I know 
Each one has kissed your face. 

I love the golden stars — the far-off stars — 
They saw us in those long-gone happy nights 

That seem to me like friends ; I love them so — 
They watch o'er you for me, those golden lights. 

And those same stars, they saw our last farewell, 
They know the memories clustering 'round that 
spot; 

And so I love them more than I can tell, 
For memories that will never be forgot. 

I love the flowers — a little daisy white 
Was the first flower you ever gave to me; 

And evermore there comes a strange delight 
Whene'er I chance that sweet wild flower to see. 



THE THINGS I LOVE. 169 

And lily — the pure pearl of all the flowers, 
Stainless as snow fresh fallen, and as frail : 

My heart was bound in chains of lilies once, 
And I made captive by this flower pale. 

I love the birds — their sweet wild notes 
Are but love stories in an unknown tongue ; 

They were sung first in Eden long ago, 
When all the world was young. 

I love the moon — calm, peaceful, happy moon, 
That nightly sails the ocean of the sky; 

For every beam seems like a loving smile, 
And makes me happy — do you wonder why ? 

I love the snow — the fleecy, feathery snow, 
Wrapping the earth in bridal robes of white ; 

For I have seen you covered with its flakes ; 
They loved to cling around you in their flight. 

I love the trees — the apples white with bloom, 
And gnarled oaks clad in the autumn's hue ; 

I love each spot, each nook, each dell, 

Where I have ever seen or talked with you. 

I love my books ; but dearer far than all 
Is one — a childish book, with covers blue; 

Only a simple story of the South, 
With people simple-hearted, fond, and true. 



170 



THE THINGS I LOVE. 



But there's one page of it I love the best; 

And when I read it o'er I always sigh ; 
It is dearer to me than all the rest, 

Because — darling, do you remember why ? 

I love the world — I think it strangely fair, 
From emerald grass to heaven's arching blue, 

From winter's winds to summer's balmy air, 
And all because of you. 




O-i. 



TOO LATE. 

HAD a precious jewel for my own, 
A perfect gem in color and design; 
But ah ! I did not know its real worth 
Until I found it was no longer mine. 

I had a flower given unto me. 

I prized it much, but yet I did not give 
The love for which my flower pined and died — 

The love that would have made it grow and 
live. 

I sailed a little boat upon a stream ; 

I toyed with it like a child at play, 
And never knew how much I really prized 

My boat until I saw it drift away. 

God gave the sunshine, and I never knew 
How I should miss the beams that were my 
own, 

Until amid the shadows I awoke 
To find that sunshine flown. 

God gave me you ; I did not know your worth ; 
I did not see the gem behind the mold ; 



172 



DREAMS AND REALITIES. 



And so I caught and kept the glittering dross 
And lost the pure gold. 

Too often we are blind while we possess 
Some blessing. 'Tis irony of Fate 

That we should learn to prize and know its 
worth 
When it is gone forever — all too late. 




"THE WHITE CITY." 
[Written about the Tennessee Centennial, in 1897.] 

IN" the midst of God's fairest country, 
In the land of the brave and the free, 
In the queen of States of the Southland — 

At Nashville, in fair Tennessee— 
They have builded a beautiful city, 

And filled it with things grand and rare, 
And to celebrate Tennessee's birthday 
They're holding a wonderful fair. 

They have relics and statues and pictures 

And flowers upon every hand; 
Grand displays made by Tennessee people, 

And imports from many a land. 
There are minerals and jewels in splendor, 

There are products from most every clime ; 
You will find there the latest inventions, 

And things stained and yellow by time. 

There's the art and the work of all nations, 
There's machinery bewildering and grand, 

There are bits of our beautiful forests, 
And shells from the ocean-kissed strand. 



174 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

There are fish like bright living flowers, 
There are models of ships on the sea ; 

There are armor and weapons and soldiers 
In that grand fair in old Tennessee. 



There's the oldest coach used on the railway, 

There's the latest improved palace car ; 
There's a steamboat upon the lake's waters, 

And gondolas from Venice afar; 
There's the beautiful arching Eialto, 

There are fountains and caves dim and cool, 
Where silvery water is falling 

'Mid flowers that lean over the pool. 

There are fruits from our fields and our gardens, 

There are birds both familiar and rare ; 
There are people from various nations, 

And the wonders of "Vanity Fair." 
There is music whose wonderful sweetness 

Stirs and thrills the depths of the soul 
Till every heart beats responsive 

With feelings it cannot control. 

Over all are "the chimes" sweetly ringing 
Some old tender strain that we know; 

And at night, with the lights all a-glitter, 
And its buildings as white as the snow, 



175 



Like a wonderful fairyland picture, 
Or a dream city built in the air, 

Is this beautiful place that man's genius 
Has made for the Tennessee Fair. 

From every State in the Union, 

From strange foreign lands o'er the sea, 
The people have traveled by thousands 

To this great show in fair Tennessee. 
Here soldiers and governors and statesman 

Have gazed on this pageant so grand, 
And agree with her fair sons and daughters 

That this is a wonderful land. 

All hail, Tennessee, in thy glory ! 

All hail, in thy honor and pride ! 
All the world rings to-day with thy story, 

Thou gem of thy country so wide. 
All praise to thy sons and thy daughters. 

Who have won fame and honor for thee ! 
Like a crown the "White City" is resting 

To-day on thy brow, Tennessee ! 



THE SHADOW OF A DREAM. 

WHERE the waters gleam and the laughing 
stream 
Catches the sun's last glow, 
In the sweet twilight, in the dawn of night, 
We wandered long ago. 

'Neath the towering hill, in the silence still, 

By the glow in the amber west, 
By the mockbird's glee in the old oak tree, 

You promised to love me best. 

By the first star bright, in the robes of night, 

By the pearl-pale quivering dew, 
By the wild flowers sweet about our feet, 

You promised to be true. 

The years have fled, the flowers are dead ; 

But still the pale stars shine. 
The birds have flown, and love is gone 

That once I claimed as mine. 

The golden glow died long ago 

Adown the amber west; 
And the frozen stream throws back no gleam 

From its ice-cold silent breast. 



THE SHADOW OF A DREAM. 



177 



'Tis a wintry world Hope's banners furled, 

Frozen their after gleam, 
And across the night to my tear-dimmed sight 

Floats the shadow of a dream. 
12 



'TIS BETTER SO. 

HAVE you lost your heart's crown jewel : 
Perhaps 'tis better so — 
For the heartaches that oppress you 
And these tears that sore distress you 
Make your soul to grow. 

Have you said farewell to pleasure? 

Perhaps 'tis better so — 
Bound about with sorrow's fetter 
You will learn to know life better; 

You will learn to grow. 

Are your lashes wet with weeping? 

Try to think 'tis better so — 
And I know there's one thing sure : 
Viewed through tear drops things are pure 

That were never pure before. 

Is your poor heart wounded, bleeding ? 

Maybe it is better so — 
You will learn to feel for others, 
For your wounded, fallen brothers, 

By a sympathy of woe. 

Has some fellow-creature wronged you ? 
Maybe it is better so — 



"'tis better so. 179 

When he stands by you forgiven, 
You will feel the peace of heaven 
Through your being glow. 

If the way was fair before you, 
You might stumble and fall low — 

? Tis the things that sore distress you 

And the sorrows that oppress you 
Help you upward go. 




THE PRODIGAL 80N. 

'"Hp-WAS the night before Thanksgiving, 
<JL And wild with storm and rain, 
As an aged face pressed closer 

To a misty window pane. 
"I can't see out," she sadly said; 

"But I will put the light- 
Somehow Fve always fancied 

He'd come home Thanksgiving night." 

"Say, husband," speaking softly 

To an old man gray and bent, 
"Don't you look to-night for Willie ? 

It's ten years since he went. 
And you'll forgive him, husband, 

Though 'twas wrong to run away? 
But a good true heart has Willie, 

And he'll come back some day. 

Don't say, you won't forgive him, 

That you cannot bear his name; 
Let the long, long years of waiting 

Blot out your wrath and blame. 
You used to love him, husband; 

He was your pride and joy : 
For the past's sweet sake forgive him — 

Our little baby boy! 



THE PRODIGAL SON. 181 

It seems to me but yesterday 

I heard his first wee cry, 
And clasped him to my bosom 

To love him till I die. 
I can't forget the little face 

That used to touch my own — 

God, to think my boy's 
Out in the world alone!" 

"You have forgotten, mother, 

That Willie now is grown ; 
That he ran away and left us 

To live and die alone; 
That he quarreled with his father. 

And since the way he's done — 
To leave us old and feeble — 

I say I have no son. 

God knows I loved my boy, 

And struggled day and night 
To give him every comfort 

And try to raise him right; 
And you know the work and saving 

When the boy had to go 
To that city college, mother — 

That winter long ago ? 

1 had such hopes, God knows it, 

It was hard to give them up ; 



182 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

But for Willie's sake I had to drain 
The dregs of sorrow's cup. 

To think the boy I trusted — 
It hurts me to this day — 

Came home as wild as Willie, 
And then to run away ! 

And ten long years are over, 

And not a line he's sent 
To know if we are living, 

Since the night on which he went. 
And now we're old and feeble 

And very, very poor, 
And not a hand to help us 

Keep the wolf from out the door. 

And the mortgage hanging over us — 

In a few days 'twill be due — 
My whole life's been a failure, 

And I don't know what to do. 
No; do not speak his name to me, 

Since the way that he has done — 
I say I can't forgive him; 

I say I have no son." 

For a moment there was silence, 
Then beside the old armchair 

The poor old gray-haired mother 
Knelt down to God in prayer. 



THE PRODIGAL SON. 183 

Surely the listening angels 

Leaned from the courts above 
To hear the quivering voice 

And catch the words of love. 

"0 God, thou knowest, Father, 

The griefs I've had to bear; 
But I've never been rebellious, 

For I knew that you would share. 
You know that we are old and poor ; 

We have no wood nor fire — 
But lack of them just seems to me 

To draw my Saviour nigher. 

Take care of us, Father, 

For we soon will have no home ; 
But maybe it will not be long 

Until you bid us f come.' 
And send my boy back to me 

Once more before I die; 
And through all my cares and troubles 

I'll thank thee, God on high." 

The door was softly opened 

Ere the pleading prayer was done, 

And the mother's form was folded 
To the bosom of her son — 

A bearded man, all travel-stained, 
Whose boyhood days had passed — 



184 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

But the mother cried : "0 husband, 
Willie has come home at last!" 

And the traveler said : "Father, 

Can you forgive me now ? 
Fve worked and made a fortune — 

Sometime HI tell you how; 
And I've heard your talk this evening, 

And your days of want are o'er ; 
I will care for you and mother, 

And leave you nevermore. 

I've traveled half across the world 

From a country far away 
To see my home and be with you 

Upon Thanksgiving day. 
Say you'll forgive me, father" — 

And the old man's tear-stained face 
Upon the traveler's bosom 

Was clasped in fond embrace. 

"Yes, Willie, I'll forgive you — 

mother, you were right 
To trust in God, for he has heard 

Your pleading prayer to-night! 
Let us kneel down and thank him 

For the good he's always done.'' 
And with arms about the mother 

Knelt the father and the son. 



CONTENTMENT. 

I'M just about as happy 
As a fellow ought to be, 
For we wouldn't want heaven 

Upon this earth, you see. 
I've as nice a little farm 

As a fellow ever had, 
And a little house upon it 

That isn't very bad; 
But the very best of all is, 

I know you will agree, 
I love the prettiest sort of girl, 

And she loves me. 

I'm just a poor farmer lad — 

I get up with the lark; 
And in the fields I'm working 

Sometimes 'way after dark. 
It isn't always pleasant, 

For the weather may be cold; 
But I know somebody loves me 

Who is worth her weight in gold. 
And the very best of all is, 

I know you will agree, 
I love the sweetest girl on earth, 

And she loves me. 



186 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Sometimes I'm digging post holes, 

Sometimes I sow the corn, 
Or I take the cows to pasture 

In the sweet dew-laden morn. 
In house or field, at work or play, 

Fin happy still, you see — 
I'm working for somebody, 

Somebody that loves me. 
But the very best of all is, 

I know you will agree, 
I love this little darling, 

And trust her perfectly. 

0, no; I'm never jealous — 

Her smiles are all for me. 
She likes the other boys, 

But don't love them, you see. 
I go to see her Sundays, 

And take her hand in mine — 
I tell her that I love her, 

And see her gray eyes shine. 
But this is best of all, boys, 

I know you'll all agree, 
I'm as happy as a June bug 

When she says she loves me. 

No ; I never mind the weather, 
Be it hot or wet or cold; 



CONTENTMENT. 



187 



I have a little sweetheart 

Who's worth her weight in gold. 
And I'm about as happy, 

As a fellow gets to be — 
Who stops this side of heaven 

And lives on earth, you see. 
For the very best is this, boys, 

Now every one will agree : 
My little girl Fm working for 

Says she will marry me. 




XE'S ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 

I^HEKE'S a certain young fellow, 
You may know him well — 
He's handsome as handsome can be; 
But his name and the -place 
That he lives I won't tell, 
For he's all this wide world to me. 

He's as courtly in manner 

As any young king ; 
And strange as the story may be, 
Though all the fair lasses 

His praises do sing, 
He says he loves no one but me. 

He's honest and brave, 

He's noble and true; 
And I know that you all will agree 
That if he were yours 

You'd say as I do, 
That he's all of this wide world to me. 



MY FIRST LOVE. 

I WAS eighteen, she was twenty, 
The spring I met her first; 
And the moment that I heard her speak 

It seemed my heart would burst ; 
For her voice was sweet as music, 

And her face was pure and fair ; 
Her soft eyes were deepest hazel — 
Brown, with gleams of gold, her hair. 

I was but a country boy ; 

She was city born and bred. 
I was shy and strangely awkward ; 

So I know not what I said 
In that hour when first I met her ; 

But I felt her wondrous power, 
Felt the magic of her presence, 

And I loved her from that hour. 

A mother frail and drooping 

Brought her to our country place; 
And soon every woodland wild flower 

Loved the sunshine of her face; 
Every chick about the barnyard 

Knew her silvery, rippling call ; 
And the dogs would follow after her, 

For she loved and petted all. 



190 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

I had bought the trimmest pony, 

Thoroughbred and strong of limb, 
With a bit of fire about him, 

And she came and petted him ; 
She'd lay her arms about his neck, 

He'd nose her sunny hair, 
And be as gentle as a lamb 

When no one else was there. 

But when the stable boy came in, 

He'd begin to plunge and rear, 
And fire would flash from his brown eyes 

That plainly said: "Beware." 
Then she would laugh her silvery laugh, 

And say, "Black Prince loves me," 
And lay her arms about his neck, 

And gentle he would be. 

And I'd have given half my life 

To be in Prince's place, 
With her soft arms about my neck, 

My lips against her face. 
I can't claim she encouraged me — 

She was only kind and sweet, 
With a sort of timid shrinking 

That just drew me to her feet. 

So the days passed on till one day 
That I never can forget, 



MY FIRST LOVE. 191 

One cloudless summer evening, 

Whose thrill is with me yet. 
I was fishing on the creek bank, 

Just above the little ford, 
When I heard the rapid beat of hoofs 

Upon the rocky road. 

And looking up I saw her 

On Black Prince a-galloping; 
And it took me not a second 

To throw down my rod and string, 
For I saw the fire in Prince's eye, 

The fright upon her face, 
Saw the waters just ahead of her, 

And knew 'twould be a race. 

I can never tell the thoughts I had 

As I raced along the ledge, 
Till I grasped Black Prince's bridle 

Just above the water's edge, 
Lifted her from out her saddle; 

Half my love I never guessed 
Till I felt my arms around her, 

And her head upon my breast. 

Perhaps I held her longer 

Than I ever needed to, 
For the hazel eyes were lifted 

With a light strange, sweet, and new — 



192 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

With a light that sent a quiver 

To my very finger tips, 
And I bent my head and kissed her 

Full upon her dainty lips. 

Then I saw the tide of crimson 

Cross her cheeks in ruddy waves, 
Saw her sweet eyes droop a moment, 

But no other sign she gave. 
Not a dozen words were spoken 

As we walked the homeward way, 
Leading Black Prince, now quite gentle, 

For we knew not what to say. 

So the summer passed, and autumn 

Trimmed the woods in red and gold; 
They were going home to-morrow, 

And my story yet untold. 
I knew she had not forgotten, 

For I could make sure of this — 
In those tender eyes of hazel 

Was the memory of a kiss. 

So I screwed my courage somehow, 
Asked my love to be my wife, 

And to share the home and hardships 
Of a farmer's prosy life. 

Then her hazel eyes were lifted — 
These are just the words she said : 



MY FIRST LOVE. 193 

"I am sorry that you love me; 
In the spring I am to wed. 

But if it is any comfort, 

You may know I love you best," 
And her eyes to mine were lifted, 

And her hand in mine was pressed. 
"I will have my silks and jewels 

As the wealthy banker's wife; 
But the days that I have known you 

Are the brightest of my life. 

You'll forget me and be happy, 

Promise you'll forgive me, too; 
For I could not bear your hatred, 

Though not worth a thought from you." 
So she left me, and the next day 

To the city they were gone ; 
And I knew that I had lost her — 

Prince and I were all alone. 

She was married in the springtime — 

Married well, the papers said; 
But though twenty years are over, 

I have never cared to wed. 
And my little summer romance 

No one ever knew or guessed; 
But I never did repeat it, 

For the first love is the best. 

13 



194 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Did I blame her ? No ; I loved her 

Far too well to cast a blame ; 
Though I saw her faults aud weakness, 

Yet I loved her just the same. 
Do you think I'll ever marry? 

No ; the day for that is past — 
Prince and I keep Cf baeh" together, 

For my first love is my last. 




A SKETCH. 

JUST a little silver shimmer 
Where the rippling waters run, 
And glide and dance and glimmer 
'Neath the sun. 

Just a crowd of happy daisies 
Nodding to the breezes gay, 

Listening to the wild bees' praises 
All the day. 

Just an oak tree, gnarled and olden, 
Standing by a moss-grown wall, 

Where the sunbeams warm and golden 
O'er it fall. 

There's a dark-eyed maiden standing, 
Waiting in the little dell — 

Why she weeps the wondering daisies 
Cannot tell. 

Lo ! he comes, a fair-haired lover ; 

But he comes to say good-by — 
That is why a gloom hangs over 

Earth and sky. 

Few brief words, and he has ridden 
O'er the hilltops toward the west; 

And the maiden's face is hidden 
On her breast. 



WAIT. 

®HEABT, by clouds of doubt oppressed, 
The sun will shine, though his bright 
beams shine late; 
The darkest night but heralds the fair dawn ; 
Cheer up, sad heart, and wait — only wait. 

Sometimes the thorns upon life's way may grow, 
Instead of roses, by some cruel Fate; 

But round some turn the flowers bloom, I know ; 
Be patient, then, poor heart, and learn to wait. 

No road was e'er so long it had no turn — 

Look up and catch the changing smile of Fate ; 

All will come right in its appointed time; 
Thy day is coming — only wait. 

And if thy happiness be long delayed, 
If you can pass within the pearly gate, 

There will be joys for every bliss denied in this 
poor world; 
Be patient, then, and wait. 



REST. 

FATHER, I am so tired to-night; 
My head is heavy like some leaden thing ; 
My heart is aching, too, from many a blight; 

It flutters like a bird on broken wing; 
It beats its prison bars in vain, in vain, 

Beset by doubts and fears, by sorrow pressed, 
And with a very cry of human pain 
It pleads alone for rest, sweet rest. 

Father, the way is lonely, and my feet, 

My aching feet, that still must struggle on, 
Rebel and falter, for the road is rough, 

And they are often pierced by many a thorn. 
I am so tired, so very tired, to-night; 

I long to lay my head upon thy breast 
And in the shelter of thy arms to find 

The sweet, eternal rest. 

The way has not been long, the years are few 

Since I set out to travel down life's road ; 
But I have found that nothing here is true; 

My heart is breaking with its heavy load ; 
And so to-night, when I am doubly sad — 

One that I loved has failed me in life's test — 
I long to fling it all aside and come, 

A sorrowing child, to thee for rest. 



198 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

The moon sails calmly on a sea of blue, 

Not even a night breeze mars the shadow's 
sleep. 
The birds are quiet, not a single sound 

Breaks the silence so profound and deep. 
0, why can I not feel the peaceful calm 

That hovers like thy smile o'er nature's 
breast ? 
Why cannot my poor heart be still, 

And find sweet peace and rest ? 

It was not always so. There was a day 

When this poor, heavy heart was light as air, 
When all the world smiled on me bright and gay, 

And life spread out before me wondrous fair ; 
But even then I was not satisfied — 

I cried to thee for love to make me blest ; 
And thou didst give it, and to-night I come 

Pleading with thee for rest, only rest. 

Take from my quivering, bleeding heart its 
pain; 

Make me thy ever-blessed peace to feel. 
Thou art so wise, and always knoweth best. 

The things that I should do to me reveal. 
I am so weak, so prone to make mistakes ; 

Thou art so wise, and always knoweth best. 
But, Father, I am so tired, so tired to-night; 

Give me the thing I pray for — blessed rest. 



MY MESSAGE. 

IN" through my open window 
Peeped a single silver star; 
It glistened like a jewel 
In the fields of night afar. 

And I said: "0 star, go thither 
And take on your beams of light 

To the one that I am loving 
A tender message to-night. 

Tell him my love is changeless 

As thy never-changing face, 
Which night after night for centuries 

Has shown in the fields of space. 

Go, ye winged breezes 

That roam the world so free, 
Tell him that I am waiting; 

Ask him to come to me. 

Tell him my love is truthful, 

Though the hearts of the world grow 
cold; 
Tell him I love him fondly, 

As I did in the days of old. 



200 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Go, mother bird that is cooing, 
To your baby birds in the nest ; 

Fly when the day is breaking 
To the one that I love best. 

Take unto him this message 
While I keep watch for you ; 

Tell him my love is tender — 
Tender as it is true. 

Go, little gold-hearted daisy — 

Ask him does he recall 
The day when he came and told me 

That he loved me the best of all, 

And gave me a single daisy — 

Ah me ! I have it yet. 
Tell him Fm lonely without him, 

And I never can forget. 

Go, thou tender white lily — 

His heart with sweet memories fill ; 

Go to my blue-eyed darling — 
Tell him I love him still. 

Tell him my love is pure 

As your leaves so fragile and white ; 
Tell him I long to see him 

And love him and kiss him to-night. 



SOMETIME. 

SOMETIME when the day's cares are ended 
And yon sit in the twilight free, 
When Memory draws back her curtain, 
Yon may perhaps think then of me. 
O'er your soul then may come a longing 
For the sweet, happy days of the past, 
And a tear perhaps fall o'er the grave of it all, 
Those joys too bright to last. 

In that hour you will know that I loved you — 

How you, spurning it, cast it aside — 
When the first winds of doubt shook your castle 
of faith 

And the strength of your love was tried. 
You will understand then all my pleading — 

All those vain, vain prayers of mine, 
When I begged you once more to love me as 
before ; 

You will see it all clearly sometime. 

Perhaps when I lie coldly sleeping 

The last deep, dreamless repose 
You may stand by my grave sometime, weeping, 

And lay on it flowers — who knows ? 
Then you will give the cold sleeper 

The forgiveness that never was mine, 
And say there a prayer; for remorse and despair 

Will come to your heart sometime. 



MY HERO. 

HE is coming, he is coming — 
I know not when nor how ; 
But T know that he is coming, 
And the prospect thrills me now. 

When the frost king's icy fingers 
Shall have robed the world in white, 

Some day in the silvery gleaming, 
Or some starlit, wintry night, 

He will cross the magic border 
That divides his world from this; 

He will come, my bonny darling, 
And will greet me with a kiss. 

He is coming, he is coming — 
0, the hours may be long ! 

But the thought that he is coming 
Fills my joyous heart with song. 

Yet I envy all the breezes 
That touch his sunny hair, 

And I long to be a zephyr, 
That I, too, may nestle there. 



MY HERO. 203 

He is coming some day, coming, 
And the thought for me'll suffice 

Till I feel his kiss of greeting — 
That will be my paradise. 

Some day in its golden dawning 
This bright message will impart : 

"To-day your hero's coming 
To his kingdom in your heart." 

And my eyes will look with longing 
Toward the hilltop's purple rim; 

From the hills toward the sunset 
He will come with twilight dim. 

He may come a prince in purple, 

Or a youth in lowly guise — ■ 
He will meet the selfsame welcome 

If there's truth within his eyes. 

He may come in lordly carriage, 

Or in lowly yeoman's cart — 
He will be my king, my hero, 

If he bears an honest heart. 

He may bring some glittering jewels 

For an offering at my feet; 
But if only one pure lily, 

With a perfume faint and sweet, 



204 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

I shall know his heart is pure 
As the sparkling drops of dew, 

And because he chose this flower 
I shall know his heart is true. 

He is coming — I can hear it 
In the whisper of the breeze; 

And a music sweet is throbbing 
Where wind fingers touch the keys. 

And my heart takes up the chprus 
That will be his welcome home; 

Fate will guide aright his footsteps, 
And I know he's sure to come. 




THE FALLEN LEAVES. 

THEY lie so low — poor fallen leaves; 
Beat down by the night's wild wind and 
rain, 
They stare up at the naked trees, • 

Which they will never clothe again ; 
And now a thought sings through my brain, 

They seem to mock life's pleasures so : 
Those fallen leaves were fresh and green 
Less than a year ago. 

All things are brief. Life, youth, and love 

Are but as leaves upon the gale; 
They nutter one day fresh and fair, 

The next they lie all sear and pale. 
The leaves that bud, the flowers that bloom 

Will soon be covered with cold snow ; 
They all were sweet with breath of June 
Less than a year ago. 

These leaves, these same poor leaves, 
Were tiny buds, dear, when you came; 

We saw them dance in May's soft breeze — 
Ah ! can they be the same ? 

We saw them sleep in June's moonlight, 
And in September's starlight glow. 

Where are you now that watched with me 
Less than a year ago? 



206 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Why cannot May days always last? 

Or June nights silver with the moon ? 
Change! change! is written everywhere — 

Life's joys all wither soon. 
And you were not more strong than these 

Poor leaves that lie so low. 
The leaves were young and you were here 
Less than a year ago. 

The raindrops fall with a mournful drip 

Upon the earth so brown and sear; 
The hours from Time's weak fingers slip 

That mark the progress of the year. 
"Change, change, and heartache !" sings 
the wind — 
My heart takes up the strain of woe. 
Will things be ever what they were 
Less than a year ago? 




TO . 

STIE not the slumbering flame 
With the magic of that name, 
Lest it should burn as wildly as of old. 
'Mid all the waste of ashes gray and cold 
There yet remains a spark which at a word 
Into a glowing fire'd be stirred. 

I know it by the strange magnetic thrill 
Which sets at wild defiance brain and will — 
That comes with but the speaking of that 

name 
(As sparks to powder make the fiercer flame). 
I knew it, though but yesterday I said 
That love could fade till every spark be dead. 

E'en yet the truant's thraldom is on me, 
And yesterday I boasted I was free. 
But stir it not. The pain you may not know 
That made cold ashes of love's radiant glow. 
Let the last deathless spark in silence sleep 
Till passing years have buried it most deep. 



RELICS. 

A PACKAGE of faded letters 
Tied with a ribbon blue, 
A candy heart, with the sweet old phrase, 

The world- worn phrase, "I love you f 
A soft, shining curl of hair 

Of a wonderful golden hue ; 
A picture, old and faded, 

With wondrous eyes of blue; 
A tiny spray of withered flowers, 

With fragrance not quite dead — 
With tear-dimmed eyes she looked at them, 

Eelics of days long fled. 

She kissed the faded picture; 

Her lone heart seemed to thrill 
As it did of old when she saw his face, 

And she murmured : "I love him still." 
She looked at the shining golden curl, 

And smoothed her own gray hair — 
"Ah me !" she said, "in those bygone days 

I, too, was young and fair. 
I can feel the touch of his fingers yet 

As he clasped in his my hand; 
And the thrill that came with love's first kiss 

I yet can understand." 



RELICS. 209 

She read o'er those time-worn letters, 

And tears fell on each page ; 
How well she knew the writing, 

Though it was stained with age ! 
"I always loved him," she softly said ; 

"Though we drifted far apart, 
And others came to claim my life, 

To him belonged my heart." 
She kissed the withered flowers 

That breathed of far-off spring — 
To every bygone memory 

Her heart was echoing. 

When the last ray of the sunset 

Died out in the western skies, 
A maiden softly entered, 

And looked with wondering eyes 
At the calm old face, all wet with tears, 

Lying back in the high armchair, 
And a golden ray of sunset 

Kissing the snowy hair. 
"Why, grandma," said she, "what are these? 

Old letters, with ribbon blue, 
And faded flowers and pictures — 

Do they belong to you ?" 

"Ah, child, they are only relics 
Of days gone by and over — 
14 



210 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Treasures you cannot understand 

Of grandma's girlhood lover!" 
Have we not all our relics 

That tell of days long fled — 
Little things that remind us 

Of summer dreams long dead? 
A tress of hair, a faded flower, 

Dear to our hearts may seem ; 
Or a picture with tender eyes of blue 

May recall love's golden dream. 




w 



THE RAINSTORM. 

IND and rain and storm, 
Storm and wind and rain- 



And like ghosts of a Fate, remorseless 
They beat at my window pane. 

The poor dead leaves, tossed by the storm, 
Hnrry, helplessly, through the cold, wet air ; 

And like human outcasts, all forlorn, 
They seek a shelter — anywhere. 

Wild is the wind, and the rain sweeps by 
In sheets of mist, like ocean spray ; 

But there comes to me, like a quivering sight, 
The thought of a time now far away — 

Of a time when the stormy winds might blow 
(My heart was light as the birds in spring), 

Of days when the ground was white with 
snow, 
Yet life was a joyous thing. 

Wind and rain and storm, 

Storm and wind and rain — 
They mock me like jeering demons 

To-night at my window pane. 



212 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

For I sigh o'er the bygone summers, 
That I know can come no more, 

As I drift on the rushing torrent 
On the other shore. 

storm, the night and the darkness 

Find you raging high ! 
But the winds of Hate and the storms of Fate 

Are fiercer far, think I. 

And I am a leaf swept by the gale 
From the time when life was spring ; 

But though far away, to that happy land 
My heart is echoing. 

wind and rain and darkness ! 

Bring back from the unknown shore, 
From the caves of dark oblivion, 

The days that are no more. 

For I long for the old-time joys 

With a longing almost pain; 
And my heart is wild with waiting 

As the night is wild with rain. 



WHEN I BEGAN TO LOVE YOU. 

WHEN I began to love you, 
The sky was bright with gold, 
The trees were dressed in crimson, 

For the year was growing old. 
It was on a peaceful Sabbath, 

And the whole world seemed to glow- 
When I began to love you 
In the happy long ago. 

But when I ceased to love you, 

The month was bonny May; 
The air was full of bird song, 

And cloudless was the day. 
The Sabbath bells were ringing, 

In the west the sky was red, 
When I felt the last warm spark go out, 

And my love for you was dead. 

When I began to love you, 

I trusted all mankind; 
I knew not that a friendly face 

False heart oft hides behind. 
But when I ceased to love you, 

My love and faith and trust 
In all my fellow-creatures 

Lay trampled in the dust. 



TO A FLIRT. 

YOU stand to-night before me, 
Asking me to love you ; 
Yon swear your heart is faithful 

By the golden stars above you; 
You say that you will love me 

With a love both true and right — 
But before I promise come with me 
To a judgment bar to-night. 

Are you sure that within your heart 

I only hold a place ? 
Does there come to you no memory 

Of some other fair young face ? 
When my voice, speaking to you, 

Falls upon your listening ear, 
Does there come the faintest whisper 

Of another once held dear? 

If there comes to you a longing 

That remembered face to see, 
Tell me now that I may help you 

To be happy and be free. 
If you know her heart is pining 

For your presence there to-night, 
Go, and I will call you noble — 

Say you tried to make things right. 



TO A FLIRT. $15 

Ere you stand accused before me 

With a stain upon your soul, 
And a gulf between us flowing, 

Whose dark waters lash and roll, 
Have the lips that speak so humbly 

Ever launched a poisoned dart ? 
Answer me to-night this question : 

Did you ever break a heart ? 

You are young, but youth is fickle; 

Tell me ere your vows grow cold, 
Will your love be just as tender 

When we both are gray and old? 
To-night your eyes are full of love; 

Do you think that it will last? 
Might you not look on me with scorn 

After to-night is past? 

The man I love must be a man 

With heart both pure and fair, 
Within whose wealth of tender love 

No other holds a share. 
I do not ask him perfect, 

An angel among men; 
But he must never stain his soul 

With the sin of flirting. 

So if you cannot answer me, 
'Tis best that we should part ; 



216 



DREAMS AND REALITIES. 



I cannot give my heart to one 
Who broke some other heart. 

So go your way — I'm still yonr friend- 
And learn to be more true. 

All the pain you cause another 
May some day come to yon. 




THE OLD MEADOW. 

IF ever my heart is troubled, 
And the billows of anguish roll, 
I long to get out with Nature, 

For it seemeth to soothe my soul. 
And when I look out on the hillsides 
All scarred by the storm and rain, 
And the trees that have stood the tempest, 
I seem to take heart again. 

And there are the sweet little flowers, 

The daisies that sprinkle the sod — 
0, when I get nearer to Nature, 

I am nearer to Nature's God ! 
And the winds that sweep over the meadows 

Seem to bring me a message of peace 
And hope when perplexed and weary, 

And a promise of speedy release. 

I know a certain old meadow 

Where the grass is soft, cooling, and green. 
Where here and there some little wild flower 

Like a star is shining between ; 
Where a dear little brook goes gurgling 

And rippling upon its way, 
Catching with silvery fingers 

At the grasses that bend to its spray — 



218 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Dancing all day with the sunbeams, 

Laughing up at the soft spring skies, 
Or holding a silver mirror 

For the violets' wondering eyes; 
Tossing its foam-flecked waters 

Over stones in a shadow of mist, 
Or singing its song in a low monotone 

By the trees' cool shadows kissed. 

I have gone to the dear old meadow 

In the dainty days of spring, 
Or when the hues of autumn 

Have fallen on everything; 
I have gone in the golden summer, 

I have gone in the winter's chill — 
Whenever I seek its soothing 

I find it my old friend still. 

I have gone to the dear old meadow 

When my heart was wild with pain, 
When my tears fell fast and faster, 

Like the dash of the summer's rain; 
When it seemed that all the wide world 

Held no one so sad as I — 
Then dear old Mother Nature 

Was ready to soothe my cry. 

I have gone to the dear old meadow 
When my heart with hope beat high, 



THE OLD MEADOW. 219 

When my spirit grew light and lighter, 
Till it longed to take wings and fly ; 

Then the sweet old sense of soothing: 
Seemed to float 'round every spot, 

For Nature, like God who made it, 
Is a friend that changeth not. 

So when my heart is burdened, 

And the waves of anguish roll, 
I long to get out with Nature, 

For it seemeth to soothe my soul ; 
And when my heart is happy, 

Out there on the daisied sod 
I can go and commune with Nature, 

And through her with Nature's God. 




LOST. 

LOST — two golden years, 
In chasing a phantom dream 
That lured me on like will-o'-wisp — 
A bubble upon life's stream. 

I have followed it in the morning, 
I have followed it in the night — 

Over mountains and arid deserts 
I have followed this phantom light. 

I have followed when spring's first blossom^ 
Waved sweet in the balmy breeze ; 

I have followed when fairy snowflakes 
Clung close to the leafless trees. 

Over seas and tears and heartaches, 
And mountains of hate and sin — 

For two long years I have followed 
This phantom I sought to win ; 

Till it came to me one morning, 
When bitter thoughts were rife, 

That I had lost forever 
Two golden years of life. 



LOST. 



221 



Two years of youth's sweet springtime, 
Chasing a phantom dream 

That eludes my grasp forever 
Like the lightning's fitful gleam. 

And I pause in my mad pursuing 
'Mid a rain of hopeless tears, 

And cry : "0 Fate, give back to me 
My two lost golden years !" 




PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 

YOU came, and the light came with you, 
And the birds, the flowers, the dew 
Were sweeter and brighter and clearer — 

All because of you. 
My heart sang a song at morning 

That echoed at even light ; 
And the day's joys were repeated 
In the dreams that came at night. 

You are gone, and the birds are sileni, 

The skies are tinged with gray, 
The flowers have lost their fragrance 

Since you are gone away. 
My heart has ceased its singing 

And murmurs in broken sighs, 
And I long like a shipwrecked sailor 

For a glance from your bonny eyes. 

You will come again — I know it — 

Somewhere in the future sweet 
I shall catch the perfume of the flowers 

That tremble beneath your feet. 
"I am coming sometime," you told me, 

"Though I cannot tell you when" — 
But I have your promise, darling, 

And my heart can wait till then. 



PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 

You came, and the day was golden; 

You went, and it turned to gray ; 
The sunshine turned to shadows, 

Dear, when you went away. 
You will come — the joyful moment 

When I shall hear you say : 
"I am here to keep my promise 

That I made when I went away !" 

Past, present, and future — 

Which days are the days most dear? 
The glad, sweet days that are coming 

Or the ones that once were here? 
I know not, I care not, if only 

Some wave of that mystic sea, 
That shadowy ocean called Future, 

Is bearing you back to me. 




WHAT 18 HEAVEN? 



WHAT is heaven?" I asked a little child. 
"All joy!" and in her innocence she 
. smiled. 



I asked the aged, with care oppressed; 
"All suffering o'er, heaven is rest !" 

I asked a maiden meek and tender-eyed; 
"It must be love/' she modestly replied. 

I asked the artist, who adored his art ; 

"Heaven is all beauty I" spoke his rapturous heart. 

I asked the poet, with his soul afire ; 

"'Tis glory, glory!" and he struck his lyre. 

I asked the Christian, waiting her release ; 

A halo round her, low she murmured: "Peace!" 

So all may look with hopeful eyes above ; 
Tis beauty, glory, joy, rest, peace, and love. 



A YEAR AGO TO-NIGHT. 

THE shadows creep o'er the mountains steep, 
And darken the vale below; 
And I sit and dream in the firelight's gleam 

Of to-night a year ago. 
The winter's chill, as it always will, 

Has fled with the breath of spring, 
And the fair sweet flowers and sunny hours 
Are blessing the earth again. 

But with the hum of the bees has come 

A memory of dead delight — 
Of days of old, like a dream of gold — 

It haunts my dreams to-night. 
And the firelight falls on the shadowed walls 

With a flicker I seem to know, 
And I halfway dream in its weird gleam 

That to-night is a year ago. 

Hark ! a footstep falls outside the walls, 

And I start with a glad surprise, 
And I open the door and look once more 

Into my darling's eyes. 
Do I sleep and dream' ? By the stars' pale gleam 

I clasp your hand once more 
In a tender fold as in days of old — 

As to-night a year ago. 
15 



226 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

A voice as low as the streamlet's flow 

Softly calls me by my name; 
And in the light of the fire to-night 

I stand with my love who came. 
"Dear" — let me whisper again the long-loved 
name 

That had power to thrill me so, 
And hold my hand while I understand 

The love of a year ago. 

A shuddering sigh as the wind floats by 

That seems to chill my heart, 
And the dream is o'er, gone to come no more — 

From my eyes the tear drops start. 
I am here alone, and my love is gone — 

Alone with a weight of woe ; 
For this fleeting gleam is but a dream 

Of to-night a year ago. 

Sitting here with just my thoughts to-night 
(What poor companions our thoughts are at 
best!), 

Like a young birdling that in wild delight 
Flutters away from shelter of home nest 

To try its little wings — such as I. 

Some day poor birdie learns he's flown too high ; 

And with a weary wing he beats the blue, 

Glad to come back to friends and hearts that are 
true, 



A YEAR AGO TO-NIGHT. 227 

False hearts so fickle, vain, and cold, 

We learn their worthlessness at slightest test. 

? Tis sad that dross should seem so much like 
gold— 
'Tis hard that we should sigh so oft for rest. 

But human life is hard — its blessings fly 

Like flowers kissed by hot winds, droop and die. 

Where have these thoughts come from? I do 
not know. 

They were not here with me a year ago. 

A year ago to-night — I musing seem 
To catch the echo of that far-off dream 
That holds me spellbound as I sit to-night, 
And floods my soul with sunshine of delight. 
A year ago to-night I sat as now 
With lines of thought upon my serious brow ; 
But some one sat here with me, young and fair, 
With garnered sunlight in his golden hair ; 

A smile, half tender, in those lovely eyes 
That were like flowers bloomed in Paradise ; 
A quiver on those lips grown strangely white 
That vowed to love me ever from that night. 
A year ago to-night — a whole long year — 
And where are you who then were with me here ? 
Gone — yes, gone, love, even from my sight — 
The one I loved a year ago to-night. 



228 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Where'er you are to-night, if I could know 
That you are thinking of a year ago, 
That o'er your heart the golden spell is cast — 
The spell so tender, though it could not last — 
If you'd just whisper low and sweet my name, 
And say you do not think me all to hlame, 
I could be happy, though I could not know 
The perfect joy I knew a year ago. 

Across the gulf of days that roll between, 
Across a love whose grave is growing green, 
Let us forget all that is gone before — 
All save the joy we knew a year ago ; 
For once again the world would move aright 
If I could know you loved me, dear, to-night. 




MY SHIP. 

MY ship set sail on a sunny sea 
For the land of love and song, 
And the wild waves danced in elfish glee 

As they bore my boat along, 
And a star came out of the opal west 

To guide it over the sea — 
And I said: "Fate will give me what I love 
best 
When my ship comes back to me." 

My ship set sail on a summer day, 

When the sky and the waves were blue ; 
And the soft winds wafted it on its way, 

And the sea gulls o'er it flew, 
And the captain smiled, for the sunlit sea 

Spoke not of a wreck in store — 
And I said: "Rich treasures they'll bring to 
me 

From love's sweet unknown shore." 

My ship came back in the dead of night, 

All torn by the wind and rain, 
Came back to the waiting beacon light; 

But alas ! it had sailed in vain ! 
Its timbers strained apart, 

It had failed in the mission in which it 
went — 
And the wrecked ship was my heart. 



/ LOVE YOU. 

THERE'S a secret I am keeping 
In my heart; 
Often when the world is sleeping 

I apart 
To the golden stars am telling, 

Fond and true, 
How with love my heart is welling, 
Love, for yon. 

I may tell the moon my story 

In the night, 
When the silvery path of glory 

Makes it bright; 
Tell her that o'er hill and river 

Far away 
Lives some one I'll love forever 

And alway — 

Lives some one who without knowing- 
Stole my heart. 

0, I envy winds their blowing 
Where thou art ! 

For their unseen hands caress you 
With their touch; 

While I may only love you — 
0, so much ! 



i toVE you. 23i 

Bo you know when you are sleeping 

Sound and deep 
That sweet thoughts of you are keeping 

Me from sleep? ■ 
That a longing with me lingers 

All the while 
For the clasp of your warm fingers 

And your smile ? 

That the pattering raindrops falling 

Speak your name? 
That the wild birds when they're calling 

Say the same ? 
That while golden hours are fleeting 

All day long, 
With one strain my heart is beating 

One sweet song ? 

Light and darkness, sun and shadow 

All repeat 
That I love you, love you, love you, 

Sweetest sweet ! 
All the world's great heart is throbbing 

With one song — 
It is this : that I shall love you 

My life long. 



AFTER MANY DAYS. 

YOU sat in a shadowed corner, 
But the light fell on your face ; 
And I could gaze upon you — 
Unseen — from my quiet place. 

And I noted your every feature — 
The smile that you wore of old — 

And I wonder if time has made you 
More tender, and less cold. 

And I see your sweet eyes shining 
With a glance I seem to know, 

And memory, backward winging, 
Brings whispers of long ago. 

And I wonder if you remember 
In the midst of Time's mad flight 

A little bit of a romance 
Two years ago to-night. 

Two years ! How the days have fleeted, 
Like the shadow of a dream ! 

That little springtime romance 
Was hurried down life's stream. 



AFTER MANY DAYS. 



233 



Two years ! And we loved each other. 

(Is it tears that are blinding my sight?) 
Of the world, to you I am least, , 

And to me von are nothing to-night. 




SINCE THEN. 

YOU ask me to turn back my life's page, 
And read a chapter growing dim with age ; 
To find amid the winter's ice and snow 
One sweet spring flower that perished long ago ; 
To call from out the voiceless silence — deep — 
The music that so long has been asleep ; 
To take the cherished links of a broken chain 
And make it whole and beautiful again. 

You ask me to recall a golden dream 

That faded like the lightning's fitful gleam; 

To call a ghost from out the buried past ; 

To awaken old sleeping memories at last. 

Ah ! know you not the page you'd have me read 

Of bitter, bitter fruit was but the seed? 

That o'er it since I saw a shadow drift 

That years of boundless joy scarce would lift. 

If I should call the melody and song 
From chords that have been silent so long, 
Think you the music would be just as sweet 
As that which we once thought was so complete? 
If I should find the flower amid the snow, 
Would fragrance from its faded petals flow? 
If I should turn the shadowed page again, 
Think you I could forget the past's wild dream? 



SINCE THEN. Mo 

A dream whose waking was so sad, and yet — and 

yet 
A dream I wonld not, if I could, forget ; 
For while that darkened ipage with pain was rife, 
It was the sweetest chapter of my life. 
And should I leave it sealed for evermore, 
When round it clusters all the hopes of yore ? 
No ! I would turn the page and read again 
That story, and skip all the rest since then. 



7^ 






^ 



\!/ 



JUST LONGING. 

THE winter's rain on the window pane 
Keeps up a wild tattoo ; 
And alone to-night in the dim firelight 
I'm longing so for you. 

I'm wishing so, while the wild winds blow, 

That you were only here, 
With your hand in mine and your sweet eyes 
shine 

As you'd softly call me "dear." 

For though I try, an endless cry 

Is in my heart all day 
For a sight of you that I love so true — 

And you are so far away. 

I'm tired to-night, and nothing's right. 

So tired of the work and pain ; 
And I want you so like in long ago — 

0, I want you so again ! 

It seems to me, where'er you be, 

That somehow you will know 
That here to-night in the dim firelight 

I'm longing for you so. 



JUST LONGING. 



And across the miles like angeFs smiles 
Your love will make it bright ; 

But when tilings are wrong, it seems so lon« 
And I want you so to-night ! 



SILENCE. . 

SWEET, peaceful calm that comes in the 
hush 
Of life, a moment's pause in the mad rush 
Of mortals for existence — thou art a breath 
Of that strange, peaceful calm that men call 
death. 

Ofttimes I'm weary of the noise and strife, 
The bustle and the confusion of this life, 
And long to rest beside some woodland stream, 
Where willows bend above the lilies' gleam. 

I would not mind the waters' monotone 
If I could only be alone — alone; 
I would not mind the wild birds singing free 
If none were there save Nature, God, and me. 

So close to Him my weary soul might rest, 
My tired heart fall asleep on Nature's breast — 
The hurrying world shut out, the maddening 

rush 
Silenced for me in this perpetual hush. 

The woe and misery, the hours of pain, 
Would fade away to never come again ; 
The weariness, the longings vain all past, 
Alone with God my soul could rest at last. 



SILENCE. 939 

We lose Him in the ever-moving throng ; 
We lose Him in the siren's wooing song; 
Although he keeps us, leads us even there, 
We lose sight of His face and oft despair. 

But it was never meant for us to be 
From pains and cares and heartaches ever free. 
'Mong even these His face we still may find, 
If we were not so blind, so strangely blind. 

The loving Father sends us what is right- 
It is the fire that makes the gold so bright; 
So in affliction's fires the soul is tried, 
And, as the Master meant, is purified. 

So soul of mine, do not for silence long ; 
Go find thy peace amid the busy throng 
By ministering to a weary brother's need; 
By helping bear his cross find peace indeed. 



TO A PHOTOGRAPH. 

YOU are so like, yet are not 
The face you represent; 
It seems to me but yesterday 
That you were sent. 

How my eager fingers trembled 

As they opened to my view 
The package the postman brought — 

The package holding you ! 

How I looked long in your earnest eyes, 
While round me seemed to float 

The words that thrilled my heartstrings 
In the letter that he wrote ! 

You are so like, yet are not 

That counterpart of thine. 
I know not where he is to-day, 

But you — you yet are mine. 

And it seems I almost fancy 

Sometimes that you are he, 
When among the twilight shadows 

You stand and look at me. 



TO A PHOTOGRAPH. 241 

And as sunset tints are melting 

Into seas of somber gray, 
My life seems backward turning 

To a long-lost yesterday. 

And I fancy I can see him, 
With, those earnest eyes aflame, 

With a fire that Cupid kindled; 
And a voice speaks my name — 

Speaks my name in accents tender, 

Thrills me, though the words were few ; 

Then I start, for I remember 
I am here alone with you. 

Dear old picture, are you smiling 
At this twilight dream of mine ? 

Tender lips, speak and tell me 
Where's that counterpart of thine ? 

16 




A SONG. 

A LITTLE sunbeam lost its way 
In far-off fields of air ; 
It fell to earth one sweet May day, 
And lingers in your hair. 

A tiny starlit corner 

Of a summer's soft night skies 
Came down to dwell forever 

In the azure of your eyes. 

And a rosebud, blushing, bending 
With the diamond dew it sips, 

Gave its color and its fragrance 
To make your perfect lips. 

And a mockbird, silver-throated, 
With his melody and song, 

In your voice and your laughter 
Maketh music all day long. 



SOMEHOW IT WILL ALL COME RIGHT. 

SOMETIMES we may long for friendship, 
And we have not the power to know 
There are always some who love us 

Who do not tell us so. 
So when our hearts are aching, 

There may come a sad delight, 

When we think that after waiting — 

Somehow it will all come right. 

Sometimes when the waiting seems so long, 

And our hearts cry out for rest, 
Sing a song to break the silence ; 

Be cheerful, 'tis always best ; 
Be patient a little longer; 

Perhaps just beyond our sight 
The prize will be ours we long for — 

Somehow it will all come right. 

Keep up heart and keep pressing onward — 

There are stars in the darkest night ; 
You know they are shining o'er you, 

Though you may not see their light. 
Though you cannot see how it will be done, 

There are things beyond our sight. 
Trust all to the loving Master — 

Somehow it will all come right. 



244 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

What matters it if the hillside 

Seems rough to your weary feet? 
The cool soft grass in the valley 

Will seem more cool and sweet. 
Somewhere in the arid desert 

Is gushing a fountain bright ; 
Keep this thought ever before you — 

Somehow it will all come right. 

So trust, and cease repining, 

And dry your falling tears ; 
Strive yet a little longer — 

The reward will come with the years. 
As you go, if the storms beat o'er you 

And drown the beacon light, 
Just call to the blessed Master, 

Who will guide your feet aright. 




AFTER. 

APTEE the years have told their tale of sorrow, 
Sorrow or joy, as thy lot may be, 
In the sweet hush of twilight some glad to-morrow 

I think that you will wander back to me — 
Will wander back across the hills and river, 

Through all the gloom that lies 'twixt me and 
thee — 
Will wander back to dwell with me forever, 
My darling as of old once more to be. 

I had a dream — a dream that was so tender 

That in the dark it left a path of light. 
You came to me — ah, joy to remember ! — 

And said : "Be patient, dear, all will come right." 
And so I wait and hope, though years are speeding 

And shadows stretch unbroken down my way, 
That Fate cannot withstand alway my pleading, 

And I shall have you back again some day. 



JUN 21 1909 



